


Cassandra

by 99BottlesOfBeerOnTheWall



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Geek & Sundry
Genre: Betrayal, Blood Magic, Castles, F/M, Family, Fanfiction, Gen, Magic, Mountains, Murder, Necromancy, Rebellion, Sorceresses, Undead, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 133,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8869708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99BottlesOfBeerOnTheWall/pseuds/99BottlesOfBeerOnTheWall
Summary: Cassandra de Rolo would never abandon her loved ones.She's been abandoned before, and would never willingly inflict that pain on others.Cassandra was never a leader.She was meant to be carefree and happy, the cheerful youngest of seven siblings.Cassandra was meant to be a good woman.But in the gray areas of this world it's never difficult to loose sight of the right path, and its easy for a sinner to believe that what he did was right.Cassandra de Rolo would never abandon her loved ones...





	1. Wolves In Sheepskin

"No, that's too stiff. You've got to hold it gently." Mother seized my wrist and adjusted my fingers. "Hold the foil like a baton, not a cane to beat me with, it's an extension of yourself. Now try again."

I pulled in a deep breath to steady myself, and tried to hold the foil more gently. Mother stalked back to her position on the other side of the mat, raising her foil.

"You're still too stiff...That's a little better...Stop! Right there, that's perfect! Now, one, two, three."

The clanging of metal on metal filled the courtyard as we shuffled back and forth, exchanging blows. Our breath puffed out as white clouds in the chill winter air. Usually it was far to cold to stay outside for long, and drifts of dry week-old snow covered the ground, but the fighting kept both of us quite warm. As we fenced Mother commented on my footwork. The fight seemed to cost her almost no effort, and I couldn't understand how she still had breath to talk, I hardly had enough breath as it was. Finally after a half hearted thrust at her shoulder, she parried my strike and scored a hit.

"You're too stiff again."

"I'm not trying to! It's just a habit."

"Take a breath...And again..."

This round went even quicker than the last one. We had hardly exchanged five blows before Mother struck at my right shoulder, and taking advantage of my counter strike, scored a hit on my other shoulder.

"Stop trying to force it." She said sharply, lowering her foil. "You've got to be patient, you're trying too hard."

"You're not even trying at all." I huffed in annoyance, pulling up my mask, and brushing the sweaty hair out of my eyes.

"If I attacked you with everything I've got, you'd never learn." Mother said, swinging her foil with an expert bend of the wrist, and mopping her forehead. I felt a bubble of pride swell in my chest...At least I had made her sweat...

"What are you two doing!?" Vesper exclaimed, pushing through the heavy double doors into the courtyard with a scandalized look on her face. "The guests will be here in an hour and you aren't even dressed! What would the Briarwoods think if you came down to dinner in fencing uniforms, and smelling like..."

Vesper pursed her lips together, too well bred to finish her sentence. I didn't mind her annoyed words. Vesper was not a fan of fencing, she thought it was too masculine of a sport, and didn't think it was proper for Mother to teach me.

"I'm sorry dear. The Briarwoods escaped my memory I'm afraid." Mother replied mildly, pulling off her mask, and wiping her blade down with a rag. Vesper shook her head disapprovingly, but didn't say anything more. She was already dressed of course. A slender emerald green gown set off the coils of her dark hair, a thin gold ring and a signet ring like Father's glinted on her left hand, and a gold necklace framed her neck. She was the picture of dignified grace.

"Well it's high time you remembered them." She said briskly. "Both of you hurry and get dressed. Mother, please- please- don't wear a sword at table, it isn't proper. Cassie, I want you in the royal blue gown with gold embellishing, it'll bring out your eyes, and I'll send down Elavir to do your hair."

"I have my own maid you know." I said, my voice tinged with irritation. Vesper might very well know what would look most becoming on me, but I didn't like being bossed around, even if it was for my good.

"Yes, but she can't do it half as well as Elavir does, and anyway Elavir is faster. Mother, I have something to talk with you privately about." And with that Vesper shooed us both from the courtyard, taking Mother by the arm and leading her inside.

***

The royal blue gown did look nice when I had got it on, and Elavir did prove to be much better, and faster, in the arts of hair dressing than my maid. Elavir was an elf, and had been in the family for three generation, plenty of time to polish her skills. My grandmother had hired Elavir ages ago, and passed her down to my aunt Eleanor when she turned eighteen. When Vesper came of age Elavir had changed hands again, and it was generally understood that when Vesper married and had children, the eldest daughter would also inherit Elavir's service. If I had been Elavir I would have rebelled at the prospect of getting handed down through the generations like a piece of jewelry, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she had been with us so long she was more of a family member than a servant...

"You look lovely." Elavir declared, when she had finished getting me ready. "The Lady," (she meant Vesper), "knew just what will look best."

"Thanks..." I said blushing. Hardly anyone ever complemented me on my appearance. I preferred comfort above everything else, and tended to wear boy's clothes when I could get away with it. A gentle knock sounded on the door and I called "come in." over my shoulder. 

"The Lady Vesper requests your presence downstairs miss." Said a maid, curtsying as she entered and averting her eyes respectfully.

"The guests have arrived then?"

"Yes miss."

"Alright, you can go." I said turning away, and the maid curtsied again before she left.

"You'd better go down." Elavir said, nudging a stray hair back into place, and looking me over critically. "And you behave. This isn't a woodland picnic." She added sternly. But in spite of the severity in her voice, I could see a twinkle in her eye.

Accepting a quick kiss on the cheek from Elavir, and looking myself over one more time in the mirror, I pushed out of my room. Glancing up and down the hallway to make sure that no one would see me do it, I caught up my skirts and sprinted down the passage. Running as fast as I could, I made it to the top of the grand staircase just as Mother and Father, accompanied by a lord and lady I had never seen before, reached the top of the front steps. Vesper glared daggers at me as I dashed down the stairs two at a time, and joined the clustered group of my siblings at the bottom. There were seven of us all together, three girls and four boys, and when we were all arranged in a line it made quite an impressive display.

"Can't you ever do anything properly?!?" Vesper hissed, as she pulled me into my place, and smoothed my tousled hair.

"Cough up." My oldest brother Julius whispered, holding out a hand to Oliver, who grudgingly passed him a gold coin. The two of them had gotten into the habit of betting on whether I would be late for things or not. Oliver usually won, because I nearly always was.

"Is that dress made out of the sitting room carpet? It's the exact same color..." Percy, another older brother, said under his breath. For a moment I was hurt, then I saw the sarcastic twitch at the corner of his mouth and knew he was joking.

"Shut up." I said, giving him a halfhearted shove. "I think it looks pretty. And your jacket makes you look fat...Oh wait...Thats just you..."

Percy shot me a look that plainly meant 'you're the most annoying little sister on the planet.' I just grinned. There was no time for words however, for my parents and the guests had crossed the hall by this time. Julius began introducing himself, and as he, then Vesper, then Percy, and the rest of my seven older siblings introduced themselves one by one, exchanging meaningless pleasantries, I took advantage of the vapid conversation to get a good look at the two guests.

The lady, Delilah Briarwood, was very beautiful. She was fair skinned, with dark hair and sultry eyes, long dark lashes, and a touch of red to the lips. Dressed in a dark crimson gown, with a hint of lace at the neck and wrists. Her slender neck was framed by a necklace of tiny diamonds, so delicate it might have been made out of frosted spider threads, and more diamonds were braided through her black hair, making a lovely impression against the dark background. 

Silas Briarwood, dressed in a blue coat, with a black ribbon sweeping his dark brown hair streaked with gray back into a pony tail at the base of his neck, was almost unnaturally pale. There was a translucent, almost ageless quality to his skin, that made me wonder if there was Elven blood in him. He had a pleasant baritone voice, and an approachable air about him, that almost made you feel as if he was your kind uncle that you hadn't seen since you were six, but used to love.

"And you must be the youngest, standing all the way over here." Lord Briarwood said smiling, and taking the hand I dutifully offered him.

"Cassandra de Rolo my lord." I said, trying with all my might to be proper, and behave just as I had been taught.

"Call me Silas my dear. No need for such antiquated things as 'my lords.'" Silas said, bending to kiss the tips of my fingers.

A wave of embarrassed heat swept over my face at the gesture, despite vain attempts to will it away. Recovering myself, I held out my hand to Delilah, but she was looking intently at my face, and seemed for a moment not to notice. At last she grasped my hand, but the ladylike grace with which she had introduced herself to my brothers and sisters was entirely gone, replaced by a genuine interest that had been missing before.

"How old are you?" She asked.

"Sixteen." I said, so surprised that I forgot to add My Lady, and silently cursed my bluntness. But Delilah took no notice. She was entirely lost in thought as she stared, past all boundaries of propriety, at my face. The heat was beginning creep back up my neck, and I noticed that her hand, which still absentmindedly held mine, was trembling slightly.

"Sixteen...." She whispered thoughtfully.

"My darling..." Silas said, speaking a little louder than usual, clearly trying to call her back to the present. With a very faint start, I saw the abstracted look to her eyes vanish, and I hardly had time to notice a faint look of confusion, before she had completely recovered herself.

"I'm sorry..." She said with a musical laugh and a droll look. "You just have such beautiful eyes, I'm afraid I was so caught up in admiring them, I was rather rude...It's a pleasure to meet you dear..."

"Thank you..." I stammered, once again forgetting in my confusion to add My Lady.

"You have such charming children. I can't wait to know them better." Lady Briarwood remarked in a low voice to Mother.

"Well, shall we make ourselves comfortable then? Dinner will be ready very soon. But I would hate to leave guests standing in the hall." Father said jovially.

"Of course!" Silas said. "Lead the way."

Taking Mother by the arm, with the Briarwoods close behind, Father lead the way upstairs. The moment his back was turned, I noticed that Delilah's apparent composure noticeably diminished. She reached out to take Silas's arm, either for comfort or support, and I could see her hand visibly shaking. With silent understanding, Silas pulled his wife's arm through his, and patted her hand comfortingly.

"You see that." Percy whispered, taking advantage of the lull in conversation, and dropping into step beside me. "Your dress is so ugly, Lady Briarwood was visibly shocked by it..." He grinned wickedly. "Or maybe it wasn't the dress...Maybe it's just you..."

***

By the time dinner was over I was thoroughly sick of the Briarwoods. Not because they were particularly unpleasant people. On the contrary, Silas was an excellent man to have at a banquet, and Lady Briarwood had quite recovered her composure by this time. It was the maze of social pleasantries that galled me. If pressed I could have managed the politics of Whitestone and the castle just as well as Vesper did. But ask me to be sociable, and there you found my weakness. Political gatherings were beyond me, and while I could be quite the chatterbox in the company of family or close friends, in the presence of strangers it didn't take long for me to run out of meaningless things to say.

Vesper, placed just around the corner from Silas at one end of the table, was in her element. It was at times like this that my admiration for my older sister truly soared. She had a natural gift for striking up conversations with a stranger, and kept up a stream of conversation, on all topics, with Silas all through dinner. In fact I was almost afraid that she might be talking too much, for during the whole of the banquet Silas hardly touched anything on his plate, only taking a bite or two at the most of anything that was given to him.

The relief I felt when dinner came to a close, can be imagined, and I didn't hesitate to excuse myself as soon as it was proper, leaving the Briarwoods to my elders. Coming back into the entry, I found Professor Anders there. At present he was Percy's tutor, but he had taught Julius and Vesper before us younger ones were born. Seeing Anders was not at all unusual, but as I entered the hall he was just opening the door for a woman I had never seen in Whitestone before, and I stopped in my tracks.

"Hello!" I said, speaking quite abruptly in my surprise.

"Hello." The stranger replied quite coolly. She was a woman in her late thirties, stained travel cloak, black wind blown hair, with slight wrinkles at the corners of her dark green eyes. There was something about her that gave the impression of a woman who had traveled far and seen the world. Altogether not the sort of woman you would expect to see in this sheltered corner of the mountains.

"Who are you?" I asked with painful frankness.

"Doctor Anna Ripley." The stranger said, quite unruffled, and she offered me a hand.

"An old friend of mine." The Professor hastened to add as we shook hands. "Now you run along...Anna this way, if you please." And clasping his hands behind his back, he crossed the hall, leading Anna towards the back of the castle. For a moment I stood still, watching them go. _But_ , I reflected, _Anders would never invite someone into the castle without asking Father first, so it must be alright..._

Shaking the strange occurrence from my mind, I retreated upstairs. Usually I hadn't much of a stomach for books, but lately Mother had given me permission to go into Father's study and borrow her books on military tactics and the arts of sword fighting. These books were more within my interests, and I had gotten into the habit of reading a little before bed.  I had just finished my last book, and I made my way to Father's study, to select a new one.

I always loved going into Father's study. The walls were lined with books, and another door opened into the library where there were still more books. On the other side of the room, tucked behind the ornamental fireplace, was a small door that communicated with my parent's bedroom. A small fire lay dead on the stone hearth, two deep seated armchairs sat facing each other before the fire, and a lumpy green afghan that Mother had made was draped over the back of one. Father's giant walnut wood desk stood at the other end of the room, and various papers were scattered across it's surface, liberally sprinkled with wax drippings from two candles on silver candlesticks. I lit one of the candles on the desk and carried it over to one of the bookshelves.

But I had hardly read four book titles before the sound of raised voices downstairs distracted me. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but their hurried tones sounded unnatural, and I listened wishing I could make out the words. For a moment all went eerily still, then (in quite a different part of the castle) screams shattered the silence. With a frightened cry of my own, I dropped the candle and covered my ears, trying to block out the horrible sound. For a moment or two I stood completely frozen like that. Then, with a dull flicker of orange, the carpet caught fire. The sight of the flames shook me from my shocked stupor, and I seized the afghan and smothered the flames, leaving the acrid smell of burnt wool hanging on the air.  
Sounds of conflict were now mingled with the screams: muffled shouting, the clash of swords, hurrying feet, and then a dull explosion, that reached me more as a tremble in the stone walls around me, as opposed to an actual sound. What in god's name was happening? Chilled to the bone, I stood listening.

"Surrender!" A man's voice shouted, only a few yards away. The clash of swords broke out, a gurgling cry, the thud of a body hitting the ground, and I covered my ears again, wondering who it was that had just been slaughtered on the other side of the wall. With a resounding crash Mother burst into the study, closely followed by a man in a black tunic, chainmail, and a dark green cloak, with the De Rolo crest emblazoned on his tunic. He was one of our own men.

With an angry cry Mother turned to face him. I had never actually seen my mother in battle before, but now, as she turned to face him, I knew why Father had said that she chilled his blood. Her face was as cold as ice, but her eyes blazed with deadly fury, and in that moment, before any blows had even been struck, I knew that the turncoat was dead.

The fight almost happened too quickly to see. The swords clashed together and sparks flew from the blades, flashing in the semi darkness of the room. A ringing clang filled the chamber as Mother flicked the blade from his hand, and it landed useless in the corner. With one fluid motion Mother reached around the back of the guard's neck, and pulled him into her, driving her own blade through his gut. A wave of crimson sprayed across her, staining the evening gown she was wearing, and the guard let out a wet cough. Then Mother shoved him away, withdrawing her weapon with a horrible sucking sound. I let out a horrified sob, and covered my mouth, feeling bile rise in the back of my throat. She turned and saw me, the fire fading out of her eyes.

"Mother..."

Without saying a word Mother dropped her blade on the ground, and opened her arms for me. I rose from my ball in the corner, and crossed the room, hiding my face in her shoulder. I could feel her put her chin protectively on the top of my head, one comforting hand brushed over my back. For a moment we stood still like that, perfectly silent, then Mother released in a shaking breath, and pulled away from me.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice shaking, despite efforts to control it.  

"I don't know." Mother replied, picking up her blade, and cleaning off the blood with the edge of her skirt. "Most of the guards have turned traitor, they've been butchering the servants. Some tried to make a run for it, but they got hacked down before they could make it out. Vesper and I were with Delilah in the portrait hall when the attack started. The bitch tossed a fireball at us. I don't know whats going on, I've got to find your father and get down to the barracks, the captain of the guards, and anyone else who's still faithful, will probably be down there. The attack is still fresh, if we can muster enough strength to fight back we stand a pretty fair chance of quelling this."

As my mother spoke, she had crossed to Father's desk. She now drew out a piece of parchment, and began writing furiously, for a moment the only sound in the room was the scratch of pen on paper. The first alarm had died down somewhat. It seemed that the initial massacre was over, and everyone who wasn't already dead was trying to hide as best they could. At last, with a large swirl, Mother signed her name, and sealed the letter.

"Now darling, I have a job for you. I need you to take this letter and get to Whitestone. We're going to need all the help we can get. Don't give it to anyone but Caroline or Archibald, you hear me? I don't know who else to trust right now. There's a secret escape route down in the dungeon, it's hidden behind some crates and an old statue at the very back, you can use it to get out. I'm fairly sure that the Briarwoods don't know about it."

"No! I can't! They'll catch me!" I said, backing away, and feeling a lump of fear rise in my throat.

"Darling you must." Said Mother sternly, seizing my hands and closing them around the letter. "No one will miss you in the confusion. Whitestone must be warned, and you're the only one I have who can do it, now take the letter and go." For a moment the resolution faded out of my mother's face, and a tender softness replaced it.

"You must be brave." She whispered, brushing the hair out of my eyes. I tried to speak, but in the end I could only muster a nod of the head. I didn't feel very brave. Mother's face suddenly tightened, and she tilted her head toward the door, listening. With a rising sense of alarm I listened too and realized that more footsteps were headed in this direction.

"Find them! Quickly!" A strange voice shouted urgently.

"Stay safe. I love you." And without another word Mother turned and plunged from the room. I could hear her footsteps fleeing towards the back of the castle, as well as two pairs of pursuing footsteps, and one man who shouted 'stop!' After a moment the footsteps faded into silence.

"Search every room. Bring anything you find to me." A suave baritone voice commanded, and I felt my blood rise in disgust at the sound. Desperately I scanned the room for somewhere to hide. The desk was far to obvious, the bookshelves were completely flush with the ceiling so I couldn't hide on top of them, the window curtains might work...But only if they didn't search thoroughly...Suddenly I remembered the empty fireplace. I had seen a chimney sweeper squeeze into the fireplaces before when we had them cleaned, and the fire was dead right now. Driven by pure feral desperation, I crossed the room and poked my head up into the gap, weighing my chances. It would be a very tight fit...

By this time I could hear sounds of crashing, as the hunters broke through doors of closed rooms further down the passage. There was nothing for it. Scrambling over the remains of the last fire, I set my back against one side of the chimney, and braced my feet against the other. It was a difficult, dirty, sooty process of squeezing myself up out of sight. My dress would be completely ruined after this. But at last I had shimmied far enough that you would only see me if you actually stuck your head into the fireplace and looked up. And not a moment too soon. I had hardly come to a stop when there was a crash, and footsteps actually in the room with me, then came the sound of ripping fabric, and I realized that they were pulling the curtains down. Thank god I hadn't chosen to hide there.

"No one here sir." A man's voice called out into the passageway.

"There's some papers here sir." Another voice, female this time, called out. "Lord Briarwood might like to take a look."

Trapped up here in the pitch blackness of the chimney, my sense of hearing was much keener, and as I strained my ears I could hear the sounds of murmured conversation out in the hallway.

"Alright. Continue with your work." Silas said dismissively, and the footsteps retreated, leaving me trapped in the chimney with Lord Briarwood a few yards away...Well I was in a nice pickle now...

Listening closely I could hear the sounds of opening drawers, and shuffling papers. The seconds slowly lengthened into minutes, as my nerves frayed, like a piece of string being severed by a dull knife. My legs were beginning to shake, begging for me to relieve the pressure or shift my position, but I didn't dare move. Once it got so quiet, I thought he had left the room. I was just about to drop back down, when I heard Silas clear his throat and froze, every nerve in my body singing.

_***_

This. Was. Torture.

  
After nearly forty minutes stuck in the chimney, a dull ache had decided to set up house in my lower back. My legs, after stinging so badly I almost cried out in pain, went completely numb. The air up here was so full of soot that I almost coughed several times, and it took all of my self control, as well as a fist jammed into my mouth, to keep it back. But even worse than the physical pain, was the mental torture of uncertainty. The screams had completely died by now, replaced by an eerie silence that was ten times worse. Lord Briarwood seemed intent on reading every single book, or paper, that my father owned. Why wouldn't he leave?!? The sound of someone hurrying towards this hell hole I was trapped in sent a burst of fire through my body, and I listened in a state of agonizing half panic. Still, any change was a blessing, and I couldnt' help feeling grateful in spite of my dread.

"The second floor is clear my lord. They're all in the bag. Johanna put up one hell of a fight, but we managed to corner her in the end. We still haven't located the youngest, but we haven't completely searched the grounds yet, it's possible she's hiding out there."

Dazed as I was by fear and dread, it took me a moment to understand what the guard was saying...Johanna was my mother. I felt a wave of cold despair sweep through me. She had failed then...I would get no rescue...There was no one coming to kill Lord Briarwood...'All in the bag' meant that there was no one left. I was the only de Rolo that hadn't been caught...

"She couldn't have escaped the grounds could she?"

"No my lord, we have security on the gate doubled at present, there's no way she could have escaped without alerting somebody..."

"Very well, search the grounds, if she doesn't turn up then go back over the castle with a fine tooth comb."

"Yes my lord. I also have a message from Lady Briarwood. She says that Ripley has found someone worth while, however he won't talk, and she would like your assistance."

"Alright, tell her I'll be down in a moment."

"Yes my lord." I listened as the footsteps retreated back the way they came. There was a rustle of papers, and then another set of footsteps as Silas also left the room.

I could hardly believe that I was safe, and for two long minutes didn't dare leave my hiding place, I kept expecting Lord Briarwood to come back at any second. Two minutes of tense waiting were about all my legs could take however, and they suddenly rebelled, ignominiously dropping me into the ashes of the fire beneath me. My entire body felt completely numb, and it took me several seconds to muster enough strength to crawl out of the fireplace and fall in an exhausted heap on the carpet. I was so tired I could hardly think. My body felt like a sack of old potatoes. Several slow minutes passed as I lay still, recovering my strength. At last with a groan I pulled myself into a sitting position and took stock of my situation. Thanks to the chimney I was alive, but I was the only one left, I still had to find a way to escape the castle, and now every mercenary in the place was looking for me. The interval of hiding had been a costly delay, and my chances of escape were starting to look pretty slim.

"There's nothing for it." I said resignedly. "I have to try."

Trying would be easier said than done however. My legs were still completely numb, and it took an enormous amount of effort to move them. Slowly, painfully, I managed to get on hands and knees and crawl to the door. Reaching up to turn the handle, I pushed the door open a few inches and peeked out. The hallway beyond was completely deserted. _Take it one step at a time._ I told myself encouragingly. _First step: getting to the dungeon._

After debating inwardly for a moment I decided to take the servant's stairs at the back of the castle. Gathering my courage I shuffled out into the hallway, and began a slow laborious crawl towards the end of the passageway in the distance. It was a long corridor and it took me several minutes, as well as three short rests, to reach the end of it. When I did, it was only to be thwarted. The Briarwoods had taken the precaution of posting a guard at the top of the servant's stairs. I was far too weak to fight him, and even if I could have taken him, it would make far too much noise. But as I watched him in despair, a bubble of hope began to swell in my chest.

He wasn't one of our own guards. In fact he looked like little more than a hired mercenary, his weapon was not drawn, and he obviously wasn't paying very rigorous attention to his post. With the element of surprise, and his back turned to me, I might just be able to take him out without making too much noise. I would need a weapon though. For a moment my hope flickered. But with a feeling of relief I remembered that there was one in the study. Mother had disarmed the guard who had betrayed us, and she had never taken his weapon. Turning away from the guard at the head of the stairs, I made another long trek back to the study and retrieved the sword, stealing a small round glass paper weight from Father's desk on the way out.

My growing excitement gave me energy, and I was able to muster enough strength to walk as I retraced my steps back up the hallway. There was a kind of thrill to being the only de Rolo left. A sense of having nothing left to loose that made me very bold. But in spite of my brash confidence I still had to keep my element of surprise, and as I neared the end of the hallway I dropped back down to my knees. Slowly peeking around the corner I waited for the right moment. It took several minutes, but finally the guard turned and glanced down the stairs, as if listening to something that was happening down below.

Balancing the paper weight from Father's desk in my hand, I lobbed it as far as I could down the hallway. In the summer my brothers and I would play Toss, (throwing steel rings, and trying to get them to land on wooden stakes in the ground) and I was a very good shot because of it. I couldn't help but grin as the paper weight sailed over the guard's head, hit the carpet at the other end of the hallway with a dull thunk, and bounced out of sight around the corner.

The guard's head jerked around, and his hand flew to his sword. Nothing caught his eye however, and I watched him chew on his lip, silently deliberating. I could almost see his thoughts passing through his mind, as if they were written on his face, and the bubble of hope swelled almost to bursting. With silent intensity, I urged him on, also chewing on my lip. 

At last with a small sigh the guard turned his back to me, and took two cautious steps down the hall in the direction of the paper weight. That was all I needed, as I slipped into the hall behind him, and silently approached blade at the ready. Steeling my resolution, I grabbed a handful of hair, and pulled the guard toward me; plunging my blade though the back of his chest, and out the front, silencing him in an instant. There was a dull gurgle, and then he went limp in my arms.

I wasn't prepaired for the blood. There was a flood of it, thick and boiling hot, filling my brain with the smell of copper, a scarlet torrent that defiled my hands. I almost wretched, struggling to remain in firm control of my stomach and it's contents, dizzied with the shock of death. Thankfully I had the good sense to catch him before he hit the ground and made a noise, trying to staunch the flow of blood with my skirt so that there would be no traces of the deed left behind. Wrapping my arms around the guard's chest, I pulled him into an empty bedroom to one side, fighting another wave of nausea, stronger than the last. Pulling the blankets on the bed back, I stuffed the guard's body underneath, and smoothed the blankets back in their proper place. This done, I paused and pulled in a deep breath, my hands shaking.

He was the first kill, my first kill, I'd been the one to end him. For a moment I felt frozen, trying to decide how I felt about it. I felt remorse, but at the same time I felt a cold sense of having done what was necessary. What was I turning into?

' _You have to understand Cassandra_.' Mother's voice whispered in my head, recalling the day when she had first given me a fencing foil. ' _Swords are not toys, they are tools that hurt people, when you use a sword you are taking a responsibility. They change you_.'

At the time I hadn't understood what she meant...But now I could see it. The first time I had seen Julius use a sword to execute a criminal I had been shocked. He was the oldest, the tallest, the manliest of all my brothers, but underneath that exterior he was a gentle as a woman. Seeing him take a life has seemed so wrong, but having taken one myself, having sacrificed another for the sake of my own safety, I knew what burden Mother spoke of. It was the same cold I'd seen in my brother's eyes, the same chill I felt in my own heart, a mantle of responsibilty I'd never known death could bring. This was a war, and it was changing me, just as Mother had said it would.

_Just get moving..._ I whispered to myself, physically forcing myself to keep moving, keep thinking, keep control. This wasn't over yet, and I couldn't rest until it was. _Just get downstairs, just get to the dungeon, do anything...But don't stay here._

Pulling the bedroom door closed behind me, I crossed the hall, and took three cautious steps down the stairs. Another scream caught my ear, and I froze, my heart jumping into my throat. In a few moments it had died, and complete silence took it's place. Apparently there were still pockets of violence occurring at intervals. But I had only taken two more steps down the stairs before another scream stopped me in my tracks, and as I listened this time I realized that these cries were not like the others. The first screams had been cries of alarm and fear. This was a cry of pain. Longer and more visceral than the others, drawn out over several seconds, before it trailed off into a sob. My stomach twisted at the thought of how much pain it would take to rip a sound like that out of somebody's mouth.

_Just keep moving..._ I drilled myself, repeating the phrase again and again, as my hands began to shake. _Keep moving, keep moving, do something. Just don't stay here_.

Hot tears spilled over my cheeks as another scream filled my ears, but with the endless mantra still screaming inside my head, I took a stumbling step forward. The movement small as it was, broke some barrier inside, and I crept down the stairs more firmly than I had thus far. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I paused. The servant's stairs ended in a door, beyond which I knew was another hallway. The door to the stairs stood ajar, and was unguarded. Through it I could look out into the narrow passage beyond.

To the left I could see that the passage was lined with doors opening into the laundry and other workrooms, and at the very end I could just barely make out another door that connected this wing of the castle with the central hallway that ran more or less from front to back. Looking to the right, I could see the door that opened into the Servant's Hall, kitchen, and scullery. My heart gave a leap, for there at the very end of the hallway was an open door that lead down into the dungeon.

Moving with utmost care, I pushed the door of the stairwell open and poked my head out listening. Apart from the screams this wing of the castle was completely silent. As I stepped out into the hallway I noticed that the stone floor was stained in places by giant smears of fresh blood, apparently this was where the massacre had started, but there were no bodies anywhere. I could see no sign of corpses being dragged. They had simply disappeared.

Reaching the stairs to the dungeon I paused. Rising up from the subterranean rooms below me was a horrible stench of death that made me gag. The smell was so utterly different from every memory I had of the dungeon, it took my breath away. I remembered running up and down these stairs when my siblings and I played Tag. We would use it as our jail in Capture the Flag, dragging anybody we found down the stairs and locking them up in the cell nearest the door. The dungeon had always been a shadowy quiet place, full of silence and musty smells...

Gathering my courage I crept down the stairs, and peered around the corner, one torch flickered in a bracket on the wall, faintly illuminating the cells. The whole dungeon was shaped like a giant O. A short passage stretched out from the stairs to the left, one cell block opened right in front of me, and to the left I could see a door that opened onto the other cell block. In the room closest to me I could see rows of iron bars stretching off into the darkness, and musty straw covering the floor. In one cell was my brother Percy, chained to the wall with his hands above his head, slumped in an exhausted stupor. In another, half veiled by merciful shadows, was a gruesome pile of bodies, thrown carelessly in a heap. 

A cry of mingled horror and joy pushed against my lips, but I bit it back, remembering to be cautious. Looking desperately for the keys to Percy's cell. I found them hanging a few feet away from me, on a nail in the wall, and as I seized them, I couldn't help recalling a vivid memory of freeing Percy when we were playing cops and robbers. I could still hear him shouting in protest as Oliver dragged him down the stairs to the dungeon. He'd been violently throwing himself against the bars, in a pretend attempt at escape when I had come to let him out. In all those games, I had never imagined that I would ever have to really free him, but it was real now. It wasn't a game anymore.

"Percy!" I hissed through the cell bars, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I struggled with the keys. Percy groaned, lifting his head dazedly, eyes bleary and unfocused. My hands shook as I jammed the key into the lock. With an impatient grunt I jerked the door open, pushed into the cell, and dropped to my knees in front of my brother, throwing my arms around him.

"Cas?" Percy croaked in confusion, slowly coming to his senses in my arms.

"I though you were dead..." I sobbed. Tears of relief obstructed my words, and I trailed off, hugging him silently.

"How did you manage to get away?" Percy asked incredulously.

"I've always been good at Hide and Seek." I said with a tearful laugh, and I released him, half embarrassed to show so much affection. It was only now, when I pulled away, that I realized how much Percy must have been through. His formal jacket was gone, revealing a loose white undershirt that clung to his skin, soaked with blood and sweat. More blood tricked out of his disheveled hair and down the right side of his face. There was an unnatural harshness to his voice that sounded as if he had been screaming, and his face was a mask of death, sunken, pale, and weary.

"What happened to you?" I exclaimed horrified. 

"There was a woman asking questions...I think her name was Dr. Ripley..." Percy said slowly, for a moment he seemed lost in thought, then he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. "She wasn't asking very nicely."

"Bitch." I spat out, feeling that there were no tamer words to express my hatred.

"I'd have to agree." Percy said with a humorless laugh. For a moment we both sat silent, each trapped in our personal thoughts. Giving myself a shake, I moved to unlock Percy's shackles. With a sigh of relief, Percy's arms dropped limp to his sides, and he began to chafe the life back into his fingers

"Where's everybody else?" I asked. "I've been hiding, I don't know where anybody is."

"They're all dead." Percy said bitterly, and he jerked his head toward the pile of bodies in the other cell.

"What do you mean?" I faultered, a needle of cold slipping through my defenses and peircing my heart. The panicky feeling of falling rose in my stomach.

"I mean they're all dead cas!" Percy suddenly exploded, making me flinch. "They're all dead. I saw it."

I shrank away, suddenly fevered and sick to the stomach. Hot tears pricked the back of my eyelids, and I took several hurried breaths, trying not to break down or throw up. A strangled sound like a cry of pain escaped my control, and though I tried desperately to hold myself together I could feel myself loosing my composure, unable to cry out I felt hot tears rise instead and I couldn't stop them.

"Cas." Percy said gruffly, holding out his arms. "Come here."

I collapsed into his grasp, and he gathered me into him, holding me so tight I almost couldn't breathe. Sobs wracked my body as Percy held me silently, and I held onto him desperately, feeling that if I relaxed my hold he would disappear. At that moment I connected with my brother as I never had before. I had always loved Percy, but he had always been the teasing older brother: the prankster who pulled my hair and insulted my clothes. But now he was everything I had, my whole family wrapped up into one person, and I couldn't lose him. He was all I had left.

"We should get out of here, or they'll kill us too." I said at last, when my tears came to an end and I pulled away from him, drying my eyes on my sleeve. Percy's presence had steadied me just enough that I still had some resolve left, and the burden of grief was easier to bear with my brother helping to share the load. A fierce sense of protective loyalty prompted me to continue making an effort to function. Percy was all I had left, I had to protect and save him, at all costs.

"How are we going to get out?" Percy asked. "Theres no way we'll escape unseen."

"I have my magic tricks." I said wearily. "Can you walk?"

Percy slowly pulled himself to his feet, leaning on my shoulder for support.

"I think I'll be ok..." He said slowly. "I'm exhausted though..."

"Me too." I said, slipping my hand into his and leading the way out of the cell. "We'll just take it slow."

Pulling Percy behind me, and careful not to look at the pile of bodies in the cell next to his, I crept down the hall between the cells. Reaching the end of the cell block, we came to a door that opened onto a short passage, forming the bottom of the O, and to the left I could see a door that opened onto the other cell block. In the very back corner of the prison, sunken into the wall was a carved out portion of the masonry that opened into a little cave in the rock. The cave was full of wooden boxes, stacks of tools and weapons, and blocks of stone. At the back, glimmering faintly in the light from the distant torch, was a tall white statue that was leaned back against the rough stone wall of the storage room. Everything was just as Mother had said I would find it.

"This should come in handy." I said, rummaging among the piles of discarded spears, maces, wooden shields, and scraps of old armor, to find one sword that still had a scabbard.

"Thanks." Percy said and I handed it to him. The blade was rusted, sticking slightly as he pulled it out, but it was still better than nothing, and he strapped it around his waist. 

"The door is somewhere back here I think..." I whispered, scrambling over stacks of boxes. There was a narrow gap between the stacks of wooden crates and the curved surface of the cave wall, and I dropped into it. Sure enough, as I examined the cave wall, I could see a dark gap between the wall and the back of the statue, and a freezing draft puffed against my face.

"There's a gap." I said, looking up at Percy, and planting my shoulder against the stone. "Help me move this thing."  
Gingerly Percy dropped down with me, and began shoving crates back to make more room, at last he turned and planted his hands against the stone above my head. For a moment I was terrified that we wouldn't be able to budge it, but at last with a grinding of stone on stone, the statue shifted a little, revealing a dark tunnel concealed behind it.

"How long have you known this was here?" Percy said straightening his back, and examining the gap, obviously impressed. I just shrugged mysteriously.

"You know, sometimes you actually have half a brain." Percy said patting me on top of the head and disappearing through the gap. Following him, I dropped down into complete blackness, and with a flutter of fear in my lower belly I groped in the dark for his hand. A moment later I found it, and he gave it an understanding squeeze.

"Come on." He whispered gently, and began to pull me deeper into the darkness. Walking slowly I followed him as the path began to slope gently downwards. In the darkness it was difficult to judge distance, but after walking forward for some fifty feet, my hand brushed against stone wall as the path bent to the left. As soon as the path curved, its incline became much more steep, and I sometimes stumbled as we continued down. After another fifty feet or so, the path turned back on itself and continued downward. It went in this way for nearly ten minutes, changing directions every fifty or so feet, but always sloping steeply downwards. At last the path came to a level, and curved gently to the left. Very faint moonlight spilled around the corner, and we stepped out into it, thankful for the light. There, another fifty feet away, was the tunnel's exit, obscured by bushes, through which the moonlight filtered faintly.

"Lets go, we're almost there!" I hissed excitedly, tugging on Percy's hand, and beginning to drag him after me when he didn't immidately obey me.

"Shhh! Listen." Percy commanded urgently pulling me back and covering my mouth with one hand. Listening, I could just make out the sound of shouting in the dungeon filtering down from above, and my heart rose into my throat. They had discovered Percy's escape.

"Run." Percy hissed, releasing my mouth, and dragging me behind him down the last stretch of passage. Dropping to my knees, I struggled desperately through the bushes. Thin branches whipped against my face, and dragged at my skirt, like cruel hands trying to pull me back. With a last heave, Percy extracted himself, and grabbed my hands, dragging me out after him. Clear winter moonlight illuminated the trees around us, turning the night into a maze of stark white and inky black shadows. Percy released my hands, leaping down the short incline to the edge of the trees.

Following, I glanced over my shoulder before diving into the forest, and caught a fleeting image of the castle perched on the rocky plateau above me. For a moment it almost felt as if time slowed down, and as I looked up I could see white walls, brilliantly illuminated by the moonlight. Red flames leapt against the sky, and I could see the small shapes of men clearly defined against their flickering light, creating a striking picture of red, white, and black that instantly impressed itself upon my memory with shocking clarity. The next moment time shattered and I turned, diving after my brother into the maze of trees, dodging through the shadows, fleeing like a wild animal.

The next few minutes of desperate running were little more than fractured moments: the trees squeezing down on me, branches reaching for my face like hands, shadows looming at me, the sounds of pursuit (real or imagined) close behind me. I could see Percy ahead of me, white shirt flashing in the patches of moonlight, dodging through the trees. The forty minutes in the chimney were starting to show their affect, and as I ran I could feel my limbs shaking with weariness. Frequently, shrubs or branches tripped me up, and each time it was harder to rise than the last.

"Percy, wait for me!"

All the little hairs suddenly stood up on the back of my neck, screaming danger! I faultered, and a sharp burning pain suddenly pierced my chest, as an arrow from the shadows sank deep into my flesh. Burning fire bloomed in my lungs, ripping a ragged scream from my mouth. Hearing my scream Percy skidded to a stop, looking over his shoulder at me, and two more arrows leapt out of the shadows, sinking into my shoulder and lower ribcage with a fresh burst of pain.

"Cas!!!" He shouted, drawing the sword I had found for him, and running to my aid. A cloaked figure carrying a long bow detached itself from a nearby tree, and also drew a sword. I just had time to see their blades clash, the ringing sound echoing through the trees. Then my knees buckled under me and I fell, tasting blood at the back of my throat. A piercing scream shredded the forest's winter stillness, and a moment later Percy dropped to his knees beside me, throwing his sword to the ground, slick with crimson.

"Percy..." I clutched at his hands. The coppery tinge of blood filled my mouth, my heartbeat thundered in my ears, and a wave of panic washed over me like a dose of poisonous fire.

"Lie still." Percy commanded, trying to calm me, as he held me down with one hand. Firmly Percy seized one of the arrows, breaking the shaft while he held it steady with one hand. A burst of searing pain stabbed through my chest as he did, forcing a cry of pain from me. I struggled, trying to push his hands away, but Percy held me down, moving with inexorable resolution.

"Stay still!" He commanded forcefully, breaking another shaft.

"It hurts." I sobbed.

"I know, I know, just lie still Cas. It'll be ok, I promise. I promise. I promise, ok? just keep listening to me, keep your eyes open, I know it hurts, but just hold on." An endless stream of babble, as much to calm him as it was to soothe me.

Suddenly Percy's head shot up like he was listening. Through the rush of blood in my ears I could hear distant men shouting. A glint of fear flashed in his eyes, sickening poisonous fear, that warped his face. He was a fleeing wild animal, driven by one all powerful instinct. I panicked as he tried to pull his hands away from me.

"Percy." I said apprehensively.

"I'm sorry Cas." Percy choked, ripping his his hands away from mine, and getting up.

"No! Percy!" I begged, trying to keep my grip on his hand. "Don't leave me!"

"I can't Cas. I'm sorry."

And with that, he turned and fled. A broken scream that hardly sounded like me ripped through my body. Agony pierced my chest, smothering the sound, and I coughed up blood. Tears blurred my eyes. He had left me. The last person I had on earth had abandoned me...It felt like having my soul violently torn out, leaving my emotions raw and bleeding. I could hear the shouts getting closer, and I blindly dragged myself to my knees, not knowing where I was going, only that I had to go somewhere.

_Keep moving. Keep moving. Do something...Just don't stay here.._.That endless force dragged me up against my will. I didn't want to anymore, it hurt too much, even the smallest movement was agony, and what was the point of it? Percy was gone.

_Keep moving._

Slowly, agonizingly, a sharp stab of pain coming with every tiny movement, I pulled myself up under the nearest tree.

_Keep moving...Keep moving...Just don't...stay here..._

But the voice had lost its power over me, its abity to drag me onwards. It still beat against the inside of my brain, screaming at me to move, but my response had vanished. The voice could urge me, but I had no strength to obey its commands anymore. I had no determination left, my heart felt completely dead. Having reached the tree, I collapsed there, coughing up more blood onto the pine needles.

   
The last of my strength was gone, and every breath required enormous effort, causing a wave of nauseating pain with every inhale. I was blind and deaf. The world could have been ending, my hunters could have been laughing over my body, and I wouldn't have known. Whether they found me, or whether the soft forest floor was enough to mask my footsteps, and they passed me by, I never knew. Their clamor had passed beyond my attention, their actions had no weight anymore.

Snow was starting to fall with an almost imperceptible rustling, and I watched the white flakes tumble down and settle on me, my blood turning the flakes red, and soaking the snow around me. The minutes seemed to mirror the sluggish drain of my blood as they dragged by. The snow's deadly chill gradually seeped through me, until at last merciful oblivion came over me.


	2. With Pelor's Guidance

Darkness surrounded me. It gaped underneath me and towered over my head. An enormous weight hung on my chest, so heavy that I couldn't breathe. I was lost in an eternal vast nothingness, I could see nothing, I could feel nothing, I myself was nothing. I only knew one thing, and that was that I was in pain. Cold. But cold with a deadly clammy heat. I could hardly draw breath anymore. I only knew one thing, and that was that I was in pain. I was sick, and getting sicker, more aware of the fact that I was sick.

And then out of the blackness a strange hand touched my face. It was warm, and solid. I tried to reach out and find the body the hands belonged to, but my hand would not obey me, and I could only command my willpower for a moment before my strength gave out, and my mind wandered away. But the hand returned, touching my face again, rallying my determination. I wanted to open my eyes, I wanted to stir, but nothing would obey me, and all I could muster was a feeble movement.

I tried to speak, but a sharp pain stabbed through my chest when I did, and all that came out was a weak moan. The hand stroked my face again, and I could hear a muffled voice that seemed to come from very far away, speaking words that I couldn't understand. I felt strong arms wrap around my body, gently lifting me. For a moment I struggled faintly, but the arms were far stronger than me, and at last my mind wandered again, sinking back into darkness and oblivion.

When at last the hand came again, recalling my attention, I was no longer in the same place. It was warmer here, though the weight still hung on my chest, pinning me down. New voices whispered in the darkness. Talking about me. But they were too far away for me to make out what it was they were saying. Sometime's I was lucid enough to hear the muffled voices, and at these time's I could feel the weight of a blanket covering me. But after the first pleasant wash of warmth, it grew oppressively hot, and I often tried to throw the blanket off, but it was so heavy I couldn't lift it. The gentle hands would return, cooling my hot forehead, bringing inexpressible comfort. Sometime's they would lift my head and gently feed me something that gave my body strength. I hated to be so completely dependent on this unknown person, however gentle they might be, and I tried in vain to feed myself or hold my own head up. But my strength was completely gone, and at last I would give up exhausted. 

Often the weight on my chest grew so heavy I couldn't breath. I would try to call for help, but the weight on my chest cruelly smothered my efforts. I could only lie there, slowly suffocating. But my protector would return, lifting me, easing the weight on my chest. Always the weight returned after a brief reprieve, and each time it was a little heavier. More and more they struggled to lift the weight, sometimes it took many minutes for the weight to be eased enough for me to breathe normally. At last the hands couldn't lift the weight anymore. It got heavier and heavier, slowly crushing me. I couldn't help but cry like a little child, clinging onto the hand that stroked my forehead, and begging them to take the pain away. They would hold my hand, as if trying to hold me up, and stroke my forehead. But there was nothing they could do. For a long time I struggled with death. It was only with a bitter effort I was able to keep myself from sinking under the intolerable weight.

And then with a sudden surge I felt the pain leave me, the weight lifted and suddenly I could breathe. I let out a gasp, drawing in a deep breath despite the pain. With an enormous effort I opened my eyes, looking up at the blurred shape of a wooden ceiling above me.

"Thank Pelor! She's coming back to us." A strange voice said. It sounded like an old man, and I recognized it as one of the distant voices I had heard in the darkness. Suddenly a face came into view above me. A wrinkled but kindly face. "You rest now." He said, patting my cheek. "Get some good wholesome sleep."

I nodded, too tired to argue or ask questions. Sleep tugged at my body, but I roused enough strength to grasp the hand that patted my face, and keep it tightly clasped in mine as I sank back into oblivion.

***

The ticking of a clock was the first sound that filtered in my brain when I began to rouse, after a long dreamless slumber. Sunlight burned through my eyelids, I could hear what sounded like a rocking chair, and sounds of movement in some other room close by. For the first time in a long time my body felt refreshed, my mind clear and untroubled, I was content to lie still, and listen.

At last I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. I was lying on my back, in a simple but comfortable bed. My formal gown was gone, replaced by a man's nightshirt, and underneath the shirt I could see thick strips of linen bandages bound around my chest. A sturdy wooden chair stood beside my pillow, and laid on top in a neat pile, washed and folded, was my dress. Sunlight filtered in through a long narrow window up by the roof, and a small fire provided further light. Sitting in front of the fire in a rocking chair was the old man who had seemingly pulled me back from death.

In my delirium, and exhaustion, I hadn't recognized him. It was Father Rynoll. He was the keeper of the Zenith: the temple to Pelor god of the sun, outside of the city of Whitestone. I had only ever seen him from a distance, not being a holy woman, or follower of Pelor, but I knew him to be a good man. A long white beard, neatly groomed, cascaded over his chest. He was completely bald, dressed in a simple brown priest's robe, with spectacles perched on the end of his nose. It was easy to see, from the simplicity of the room, bed, chair, and his robes, that this room probably belonged to him. He was rocking back and forth, humming tunelessly, like a great bee. And strangely enough, he was knitting what looked like a fuzzy pink wrapper, the color of which contrasted sharply with the room.

"Father?" I said, confusedly, wondering how on earth I had ended up here.

"Ah, you're awake little one." He said laying down his knitting. "There were times when I thought for sure that Pelor was going to call you back into his fold. But it seems that he has decided to return you to us. And how do you feel?" Rising from his chair, he came over to my bed, and settled on the edge, taking my hands in his.  
   

"Better sir." I said, gathering my strength, I pulled myself higher up on the pillows. A sharp pain stabbed though my chest when I moved, and I sank back after a moment, exhausted.

"That's good." He smiled, and patted my hand in a fatherly way. Something about the touch, and the smile that went with it, pricked at some inner wound that wasn't fully healed yet. I felt tears rise to my eyes, and I closed them, trying to hide it.

"How did I get here?" I finally managed to ask, after I had gotten my emotions back under control.

"I found you out in the woods." The Father answered. "Theres a place I know on the western side of the castle where winter mushrooms grow. In the winter time I like to walk up in the mornings and pick them. I walk, and pray, and think about life. Altogether I find it a most healthy practice, and I always come back more fit for the day's work. I was walking up, as usual, when I came upon you lying half buried in the new snow. At first I thought you were dead, and when I realized my mistake, I brought you back to the temple, praying that Pelor would show mercy and spare your life. You were on the brink of death by the time I found you, and it took a long hard struggle to pull you back. The church has been rather neglected because of it. But a soul in danger is as important as ten in safety, I say."

"But how long have I been sick?!" I said taken aback, and trying again to lift myself. Another sharp stab of pain drew an involuntary gasp from me, and I once again gave up, sinking back into the pillows behind me.

"Nearly three months now I would say. I've hardly left your side, except for urgent matters...Ivan, my disciple, has been attending to the needs of the community in my absence, and he does his best, but it wants my hand."

"Three months!?" I exclaimed, shocked.

"It is a long time." Father Rynoll said complacently. "However, seeing you awake is ample reward for the effort."

I smiled gratefully, but talking had worn me out, and my mind had moved on to other matters. Memories of what I had been through were starting to rise to the surface, and I tried in vain to block them out. My eyes filled with tears, and I tried to furtively wipe them away. but nothing could put off my grief any longer. I held out my arms, feeling desperate for something to hold onto, and the Father lifted me. The tears of fear, and despair, and grief, that I had bottled up during my escape, the tears of anguish at Percy's abandoning me, the tears of pain that had gone unshed in my delirious wandering, all came now. I cried until I was completely exhausted. The Father held me quietly as I wept. He never tried to comfort me, or intrude on my grieving, he just let me cry myself out. Then he laid me back down on the pillow, and with another pat on my hand, returned to his knitting. For a long time I lay still and watched him, until at last I was lulled back to sleep by the rhythmic movement of the knitting needles.

***

For most of the next week I slept, recovering my strength. The time passed in a blur, leaving a very indistinct impression of itself on my mind. Sometimes I roused enough to eat or drink. At other times the Father would change the bandages on my chest, revealing the ugly wounds underneath. They were starting to heal by this time, but they were still quite fresh, and I knew that they would leave some nasty scars. As the first week turned into two I began to rouse a little, and during my waking hours I would watch the Father knit, or perform any number of small tasks that he always seemed to have an endless supply of. Time had no real meaning. The day's passed without my notice, and soon turned into weeks, and then months. I never thought much about anything. After the first storm of grief, my mind had settled into a kind of depressed stupor. My heart felt completely dead.

Slowly over the next two months the Father began to give me small tasks to perform. At first they were only simple things, keeping his balls of yarn from tumbling across the floor when he was knitting, or holding things for him. Even these simple tasks were taxing for me, and I would soon grow too tired to continue doing them. The Father never seemed to mind, but after letting me rest for a while, he would always ask me to keep going. Once every day he would make me get out of bed and take a few steps around the room, to exercise my legs. After the long illness I was very weak, and had to lean heavily on his arm.

It was a slow process, but gradually over the next two months my strength returned until I could begin attempting more difficult and delicate tasks. Sometimes he would give me bits of sewing to do, or have me write short letters while he dictated to me. He began to send me on short errands. Asking me to fetch a paper from his desk, or stir the fire. Each time the tasks were a little more strenuous, sending me a little farther every time. I couldn't help but be amused by his peculiar healing methods.

Throughout this period I had never left the Father's room, and only had a vague idea of what the rest of the small temple was like. But about this time Father Rynoll began to send me on errands outside of the simple room. 'Just hop over and tell Ivan to take the bread out of the oven or it will burn.' He would say, and I would nervously comply.

I didn't like leaving the little room. The sanctuary of the little temple felt too exposed, and I was always haunted by a vague sense of unease. Talking to Ivan was another task that I found difficult to perform. I trusted Father Rynoll, and while in his presence I felt completely safe, but I had grown distrustful of strangers, and I couldn't bring myself to talk to Ivan without being asked to do so. I couldn't have told what the danger was, or what it was that I feared, but the vague anxiety still clung to me.

Father Rynoll knew I didn't like leaving the bedroom, but that never stopped him from asking me to do it. There was something in the Father that made me love him, and I found myself obeying him, in spite of myself. I loved his kindly old face as dearly as if he had been my own father, and I was never as happy as when I was sitting with him. Something about his presence always lifted the heavy sorrow that weighed on my heart. When his priestly duties in the community called him away, I missed him keenly, and eagerly looked forward to the hour when he would return.

And then one day he didn't come at all. At first my vague fear kept me from searching for him, but at last the desire to see him overcame my paranoia, and filled with uneasiness I crept into the empty sanctuary. It was a long room, with double doors at one end, and an alter to Pelor at the other. Simple wooden pews filled the room, and a somewhat worn red carpet advanced down the isle between them. It was a simple place, and the only really fine decorations were the large stained glass windows that lined the walls of the chamber. Multi colored sunlight filled the room, but it was completely empty.

Standing silent in the sanctuary, I could just make out the sounds of Father Rynoll's voice coming from the direction of the kitchen on the other side of the sanctuary. Crossing the room I peeked through the kitchen door. There he was, sitting in another rocking chair like the one in his room, knitting peacefully. As he knitted, he was instructing Ivan in the concoction of some kind of pastry, and smiled as I entered.

"You decided to join us my dear! Come sit down, make yourself comfortable." He rose to pull up another chair next to his, and I timidly sat in it. "Could you peel these for me? It would be such a help." He added, putting a bowl of apples on the floor next to me, an empty bowl and a small knife in my lap. To surprised to argue, I took them and began to peel one of the apples.

Without another word Father Rynoll sat back down into his chair, and it suddenly occured to me that he had probably left me alone on purpose, just to make me leave his room of my own free will. It would be just like him to do such a thing. I felt a faint stirring of indignation, but in the end amusement over came it, and I couldn't help but laugh at myself.

Ivan, after staring at me for a moment, shocked that I had come into the kitchen without first being asked, went back to tossing flour and other dry ingredients in a bowl. I had never voluntarily spoken to Ivan, or remained in his presence for longer than necessary, and as I peeled my apples I took stealthy glances at him. A young man of nineteen or early twenties, with disheveled pale blond hair, and a bit of stubble on his cheeks. He had sharp clever blue eyes, nimble fingers, and a tall, active body. Looking at him, he didn't really seem like the sort of person that would become Father Rynoll's disciple and devote himself to Pelor. But I knew that he was the only other person besides the Father living at the temple.

"My dear..." Father Rynoll said, breaking the silence that filled the little kitchen, and drawing my eyes away from Ivan. "You've been with us for nearly three months now, and I'm glad to see that you've been healing so well..."

"Thank you sir." I said slowly. Seeing that he paused and looked at me searchingly, a vague sense of apprehension settled over me, I could sense that walking across the temple sanctuary was not the only test I would endure today.

"I think it's high time you told us a little more about yourself." His voice, which so far had been gentle, now carried a hint of steel. "I want to help you my child, but I can't until you tell me how."

I nodded and bit my lip. I had known that this moment would come, but I had hoped that somehow they would forget to ask. But in my heart I knew that I owed them an explanation, these were the people that had saved my life. Hesitantly I told them everything. It was a short, cold, little narrative. I left out all but the most important details, relating only what they needed to know. As I neared the end of my narrative I spoke more and more softly. At last my voice failed me and I came to a halt, afraid that if I continued my emotions would get the better of me. The Father listened in complete silence, letting me tell the tale in my own way, knitting as I talked. Ivan had silently drawn close to listen, occasionally giving vent to a wrathful grunt. By the end of my story his eyes were blazing with furious indignation, Father Rynoll's mouth had become a thin line, and as he continued to ply his knitting needles he drew the yarn so tight I half expected it to snap.

"I see..." Was all the Father said when my voice failed me, and silence filled the kitchen. Retelling the story had rekindled some of my old emotion, and as I peeled the apples tears stung at my eyes, but after the first swell of grief, anger quickly replaced it. A tiny flame flickered within my chest, little more than a dull glow, but it was enough to shake me a little from the deadness that had settled over me. I felt less afraid than I had before.

"What about Whitestone?" I asked at last when I had regained the power of speech. "What's happened since the massacre, have the Briarwoods been looking for me? Did anyone survive? Anyone at all?"

"They haven't been looking for you. If that's any comfort. I would say that they probably think that you're dead...So did we, for that matter." The Father said slowly. "They told us that the de Rolo family and the rest of the castle had fallen to plague, and that they had come into power. It was a fairly obvious lie. Most of us had seen the flames at the castle, and several objected. Anyone who stood up to them was shot down with arrows. After that they proceeded to drag the noble families out of their homes and kill them. There was some fighting, but most of it ended quickly. The Briarwoods have brought a great deal of power and influence from where ever they came from."

"The nobles are dead?" I exclaimed in disbelief. The noble families, under my family's guidance, had ruled over Whitestone for centuries. They had been more like aunts and uncles, than my parent's subordinates. Caroline and her husband had both been there when I was born...These people had been my greatest hope. Mother's letter had been for them. For a few moments I sat frozen, trying to make myself believe Father Rynoll.

The Father nodded sadly, saying. "The Briarwoods have given the noble's titles and property to various minions and cutthroats that came with them from where ever they came from. They've given the New Nobles complete control of Whitestone. So far they've allowed us to continue with our lives much as we did before, and they've promised us safety, but I doubt they will keep their word."

"What are these 'New Nobles' like?" I asked. Righteous anger was starting to rise within me, burning my grief away. My mind felt horribly clear. "What kind of men are they?"

"Most of them are nothing more than thugs that happened to be particularly useful to the Briarwoods." The Father said. "Sir Kerrion Stonefell has been put in charge of the agriculture and logging. He was the captain of the Briarwood's guards. So far he hasn't done more than require taxes on every harvest. Duke Gorron Vedmire appears to be some distant relative of the Stone Giants, and in theory the keeper of our temple, but so far he hasn't shown much interest in our doings. He's stupid but strong, nothing more than a killing machine."

The Father's face had been grave up until this point, but now his face darkened, and I could see hate similar to my own burning in his eyes. "Count Tyleeri has taken over management of the Whitestone mines. Out of all the new nobles he seems the most sadistic, beating his servants for fun, attacking anyone he deems a threat, and spreading death where ever he can. His men are equally barbarous, burning down homes, and arresting people for no reason."

Ivan let out an angry grunt, and spat in the fire. The father sat silent for a few moments, knitting feverishly, as if he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Countess Anna Ripley is the last of the Briarwood's lackeys." He said giving himself a little shake and continuing. At the sound of this name I gave a start and looked quickly at his face. Both Ivan and the Father saw it, and he shot me a searching look.

"She was at the castle in the attack." I exclaimed, then I realized they were both looking at me, and a wave of embarrassment washed over me "Percy said she interrogated him. I think she was torturing the servants while the attack was taking place." 

"Really..." The Father said slowly, and his eyes became distant, as if he was lost in thought.

"I don't know what she was looking for..." I said lamely, half wishing that I hadn't spoken.

"I wonder..." Father Rynoll said at last, running his fingers through his beard thoughtfully, and he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to us. "The Briarwoods haven't given her any duties in the city to attend to, and she spends most of her time up in the castle...I wonder what she's up to..."    

"Have you tried to get word to the emperor about the noble families' deaths? Tell him about the Briarwoods taking over?" I asked, breaking the long silence that had settled over us. The mood of the room seemed to grow even darker after I asked this question. The Father's hands shook as he knitted, and Ivan's face became a dark cloud.

"Several families tried to escape, and we gave them letters to give to the emperor, but none of them made it." The Father said grimly.

"Why? What happened to them?" I asked apprehensively, half wondering if I even wanted to know the answer.

"They're all dead." Ivan said bitterly, speaking up for the first time, his face contorting into a mask of ferocity. "All dead down to the littlest child, with their bodies hung from the Suntree as a disgusting mockery."

A horrible vision of the majestic tree in the center of town, dripping blood from it's leaves, with black bodies dangling from it's branches, swam before my mind's eye, and my stomach heaved.

"The Briarwoods have proved themselves to be quite ruthless." The Father said. "They've mercilessly destroyed anything that stands in their way."

"So there's no way to get help from outside."

"Indeed." The Father assented. "We are essentially held prisoner in our own homes."

All this time the fire in my chest had been growing steadily hotter. It was now blazing inside my chest, filling me with angry warmth. I could picture the faces of my family, of the nobles, the servants the Briarwoods had slaughtered. I could recall the screams I had heard, the dark pile of bodies that had been so carelessly tossed into the dungeon cell. The image of the bloodied defiled Suntree lent my hatred further fire.

I knew I couldn't hide in the Father's room anymore. I had work to do. The Briarwoods had murdered my family, invaded my home, and oppressed my people. For they were my people now. My family was gone, the nobles were dead, I was the only one left. I now knew why Pelor, or who ever it was that controlled all this, had spared my life. Whitestone needed a leader, someone to give the people hope, and I was the one that had been chosen. At another time the responsibility would have frightened me, but at the moment there wasn't room for anything else but burning hatred in my heart.

"Then it's up to us." I said with grim resolution. "We have to fight back."

Ivan was staring at me, hands frozen in the act of mixing the ingredients in the bowl he held, awed by my sudden tone of authority. For as long as he had known me, I had been shy of notice and had never spoken so much in front of him. The complete change took him by surprise. In fact my tone of authority surprised even myself. Father Rynoll on the other hand smiled, seemingly unsurprised by my new courage, as if he had known that I had it in me all along.


	3. Rise of the First Rebellion

_Whitestone, 2 years later._

In the still hours before dawn the temple was completely silent. The kitchen fire had faded down into a bed of dull coals that were the only source of light in the pre-dawn blackness. Ivan lay on a bedroll in front of the dying fire, fast asleep, and across the sanctuary I could hear Father Rynoll's thin whistling snores. I was curled up under the blankets, unable to sleep any longer. I wasn't nervous exactly, but I was excited. Every nerve in my body was singing, every sinew was tensed and ready for battle, each breath came slow and steady.

Gathering my strength I pulled back the blankets and slipped quietly out of bed. Moving soundlessly through the darkness, I grabbed a jar of grain and an empty pot from one of the kitchen shelves and slipped out of the kitchen, crossing the temple sanctuary. Finding my shoes near the door I fumblingly pulled them on in the dark. The two double doors gave a sonorous creek as I pulled them open and slipped out into the shadowed front porch. Running my hand along the outer wall of the temple, I made my way through the darkness round the back of the building, and ducked under the wooden shelter that leaned against the stonework. The Father's goat let out a mournful bleat as I entered, and then I felt her warm nose prodding at my legs and nibbling at my clothes.   
   

"Stop it!" I said, shoving her away with my knee. "Be patient, you silly old goat."

Groping through the blackness I found the stub of candle resting in a rough clay dish on a shelf, and brought it down from the shelf to light. In the flickering candlelight I could see the inside of the shelter. Straw and hay covered the earthen floor, goat droppings the size and shape of giant raisins littered the ground, and a rickety wooden stanchion stood in one corner. A large gray goat, with perky ears and stubby little horns, was trying to poke her nose into the jar of grain, her short tuft of a tail twitching back and forth.   
   

"Stop that!" I scolded, pulling the jar up, and shoving her away again. As I walked over to the stanchion the goat obligingly leapt up onto the platform, and thrust her head through the bars, eager for me to feed her. Measuring out her grain into the trough, she immediately began to eat, snorting and grunting as she did. I tightened the loop of rope at the top of the bars so that they snuggly hugged either side of the goat's neck, and began to milk her, squirting jets of milk into the bottom of the stock pot from the kitchen.   
   

Milking the Father's goat had become my job soon after I had told Father Rynoll and Ivan who I was, and it was one of the few things I still genuinely enjoyed. It was so peaceful: sitting here in the darkness, with the goat's warmth and her dusty smell for my only company. You didn't have to talk to her. After all, she was just a goat, she couldn't understand Common anyway...I let out a sigh, and leaned my cheek against the goat's soft round stomach, closing my eyes. Silence hummed between us, connecting us together like an invisible thread, and I felt an inexpressible sense of intimacy settle over me. All the tension and loneliness seemed to drain out of me, mingling with the milk as is it streamed into the pot. It was just me and the goat.

Then the flow of milk came to an end, and the spell was broken. I coaxed down the last few squirts of milk, then I pulled the pot away, loosening the wooden bars around the goat's neck so that she could get out. Picking up the jar of grain from the ground where I had set it, I gave it a little shake and frowned, there wasn't much left. The last two harvests had both been bad, and nearly everything that had been harvested had been taken by Sir Kerrion. Grain was in short supply. I'd have to be more sparing with it in the future, much to the goat's chagrin.

"Thanks for the milk." I said patting the goat's side, blowing out the candle, and ducking out from under the wooden shelter. Stepping softly, I made my way back around the edge of the temple, and slipped back into the kitchen. I grabbed the poker and stirred the fire, trying not to wake Ivan, but he was fast asleep and didn't notice. Setting the milk on the table, I grabbed a length of cheese cloth, tied it over the top of a bowl, and slowly poured the milk through the cloth, straining all the impurities out. This done I unwrapped the loaf of bread on the top shelf and broke it into three pieces, setting the pieces on three separate plates. Fetching three cups from the shelf, I also distributed the milk.

"Ivan." I whispered softly, going to him and giving him a shake.

Ivan groaned as I shook him, and rolled over, rubbing his eyes blearily. "What time is it?" He asked.

"Morning. The sun will be up soon." I answered, fetching a plate and cup from the table, and thrusting them into his hands. He stared down at them confusedly, smacking his lips sleepily. Ivan was an extremely deep sleeper. It would still be several minutes before he woke fully.

"Eat." I commanded.

"Why are you waking me up so early..." Ivan said, squinting at me through the darkness as I fetched my own breakfast from the table, and sat on the floor with him.

"It's all coming down today." I said, wondering how on earth he could just forget about something so important. "Now stop asking stupid questions and eat."

Ivan grunted sulkily, drowning his discontented mutterings in milk, as he blinked sleepily at the fire over the rim of the cup. My anticipation seemed to sharpen my appreciation for the bread's rich flavor, and I silently I tore into it, washing it down with milk. I was ready. Two years I had been waiting for this, and the fire in my chest flashed with fierce joy. 

My anger was like a slow burning flame inside my chest, filling me with warmth, urging me onward. It was no longer a destructive raging inferno, beyond all control, that scorched and consumed me. I had learned to control it, master it, turn it into a seed of flame that sustained me. My hatred was always with me these days. 

Ivan, sitting on the other side of the fire, was starting to look a little more alert. Polishing off the last of my breakfast, I carried my dirty dishes over to the bucket of water in the corner, and dropped them in. From under my bed I pulled out my few personal belongings and began to arm myself, pulling on a set of basic leather armor, along with shoulder pads, gloves, and bracers on my arms. Ivan was also dressing, pulling a fine chain mail shirt over his head that I eyed jealously. I had wanted to wear it but the others had said I probably wouldn't need it, so Ivan had ended up with it. 

Last of all I pulled a sword and dagger, both in finely crafted leather scabbards, from under the bed. The dagger had been a gift from Ivan in case of emergencies, and the sword was the one I had taken from my father's study. Somehow I had become rather fond of it, and with a swift movement I drew it from the sheath, giving it a couple of swings. It swished through the air, glinting in the firelight, and I listened to the sound with my head tilted to one side. I had never actually given the blade an official name, but every time I looked at it I was vividly reminded of its previous owner, the guard who had turned traitor on us, and so I loosely thought of it as the Traitor. All this time I had kept it instead of a finer weapon because I had determined that, as it had belonged to a traitor, so it would also kill one.

Shoving Traitor back into it's sheath, I strapped it around my waist, also pulling out the dagger and checking the blade. It was extremely sharp. As I finished dressing, Ivan grabbed two cloaks from the coat hooks by the door, and tossed me one. I tugged it around myself, and tied it under my chin, pulling the heavy hood up over my face.

"Ready?" I asked, turning to Ivan. He had also donned his cloak and pulled the hood up over his face. I could just barely see his face through the shadows of the hood.

"Of course." He said, grinning evilly, and I grinned back.

"Lets go then."

Moving silently, we crossed the dark sanctuary, and I quietly opened the double doors again. The faintest trace of daylight was starting to filter into the valley as we stepped out into the open air, making the night shadows darker by contrast. Framed against the faint light I could make out the dark peaks of the Alabaster Sierras in the distance, still only dark shadows that wove in the valley and towered over Whitestone. To the north, perched above the surrounding forest on a small rocky plateau outside the city, I could just make out the shape of Castle Whitestone, a black shadow against the pale dawn light.

Like twin shadows Ivan and I set off into the darkness, avoiding the footpath, keeping instead to the darker shadows under the trees. The woods around us were eerily silent. Usually dawn brought with it a symphony of birdsong, but ever since the Briarwoods had taken over, all the birds had abandoned the valley. The forests felt like an abandoned graveyard without them.

As we approached the edge of the city the trees began to thin out, and I could make out the flat expanse of fields between their trunks. The farmers usually came out to the fields at dawn, and some even before, but today the fields were completely empty. Nobody would be tending the crops today. Not that it would have made any difference, the acres of sparse wheat were growing badly despite all the farmer's efforts to bolster them. I could already tell that another poor harvest was imminent. 

Beyond the expanse of scrubby plants the walls of Whitestone rose, surrounding the city, and completely obscuring everything inside. Tugging Ivan behind me I vaulted over the crooked wooden fence that surrounded the fields, and began to cross, keeping low to the ground. At last we reached the walls and crouched low at their base. They weren't smooth stone, instead resembling cobblestone in their structure, and it was easy enough to scale them. With a last heave I pulled myself up, and tumbled over the edge of the battlements, landing on the wide walkway behind them. A moment later Ivan joined me. Back when my family had ruled over Whitestone a constant watch had been kept from the battlements, but nobody patrolled the wall these days. The city's safety didn't really seem to concern the Briarwoods that much. 

Ivan and I both dropped from the wall, landing at its base inside the city, and set off through the surrounding buildings for the central square. Whitestone wasn't exactly what you'd call a city. It was larger than a town, but not exactly big enough to deserve the title of a city. Many of the shadowed buildings around us were abandoned or partially ruined. Some were even burned, the work of Sir Kerrion, who had apparently decided that the poor harvest was the fault of the farmers, and burnt down several homes as punishment.

At last we stepped from the surrounding buildings into the open square at the center of town. Towering over the square, gaunt and naked, it's crown shrouded in dawn shadows, was the Suntree. It was dead. For as long as I could remember the Suntree had been towering shelter of green leaves and thick branches, that covered the ground in a net of shifting patches of sunlight and green shade. I could remember climbing in its branches hundreds of times, playing in the pile of leaves that had fallen from it every autumn, digging in the snow at its roots every Winter's Crest Festival. It was like an old friend that had watched over me all my life. And now it was dead.

The Suntree had somehow become a beacon of hope in these dark times, and it's death had shaken all of us. Nobody knew exactly how long it had been there, only that it had been growing in this valley long before Whitestone had been built. Legends said that when the first settlers had come into the valley, they had taken shelter under its boughs in a storm, and when they did the storm had broken and not returned until Whitestone was built. The followers of Pelor said that the tree had been planted by him, to close a wound in the light, and that it was a symbol of his power. What ever the origin of the tree, it was very old, and its loss had saddened us all. 

"Poor old thing..." Ivan said, pausing as we crossed the square, and running a hand over it's dead surface.

"It's vengeance is coming my friend." I said, also stopping, looking up into its dark branches. 

"Vengeance won't bring it back though..." Ivan whispered sadly. 

"I know." I said, and I put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. For a moment we stood silent like that, looking up at the tree, then Ivan shook himself and pulled away. Feeling a little bit more sober, we crossed the rest of the square and slipped into one of the narrow side alleys. The buildings on either side of the narrow pathway were both apparently abandoned, but as we came to a boarded up window on the right, I could just make out a faint bit of candlelight filtering through the wooden slats. Knocking softly, I put my lips to one of the cracks I hissed through. "Hey! Let us in." 

"Who goes there?" A trembling elderly voice hissed back suspiciously. 

"Trudy it's me!" I whispered back, stifling a laugh. "Cassandra!" 

"How do I know it's you?" Trudy hissed challengingly. "You could be a spy! An imposter! A- a- doppelgänger!!!" 

"Open the window Trudy." Ivan said wearily, pushing me to one side, and speaking through the wooden slats. Grumbling discontentedly Trudy began removing the wooden planks until there was a large enough gap for us to squeeze through. 

"You watch your manners young man." Trudy said reprovingly, when we finally made it into the room, and she moved to replace the planks. Ivan began to help her, and she yielded her place to him, mumbling approvingly under her breath.  

"You should put a sheet over the window." I told her when Ivan finished. "Some light's leaking through the cracks." 

"Don't you get uppity with me." Trudy griped. "I'm over seventy years your senior miss."

I listened respectfully to her senile mutterings, not understanding a word of it, as she went off into a long tangent about how when she was my age she was taught to respect her elders. Trudy was a good woman in her way, a bit crazy perhaps, but trustworthy. Well over ninty years old, it was actually a bit surprising she was still as fit as she was, able to walk and take care of herself, living on her own with no more than assistance than one maid to cook her meals. At times I almost felt jealous of her. With almost a hundred years already under her belt, two years of oppression hardly made a difference when compared to the long life she had already lead. For her it didn't matter what happened today, her life was almost over anyway, and she had plenty of happy memories to look back on. 

"Put a sheet over the window Trudy." I said, cutting into her long winded speech when she paused for breath, hastily adding "please!"

Trudy, who had been about to embark on another long tangent, smiled sweetly, mollified by my hasty courtesy, and began to spread a horse blanket over the window. 

"We aren't the first ones here are we?" Ivan said. 

"No indeed." Trudy puffed, fiddling with the blanket, until at last she was satisfied with it and dusted her hands on her apron. "The rest of thems is upstairs." 

Ivan at once headed for the stairs, mounting them two at a time, and Trudy's face darkened. Before I could get a word in Trudy had set off on another long speech, more or less on the same topic as the last one, and I had to stand a listen respectfully while she talked. After a nearly ten minute lesson on manners and respectful behavior, in which Trudy hardly seemed to draw breath and she spoke so rapidly I couldn't find an opening to speak in, she finally drew a deeper breath. 

"I'm sure he didn't mean to be rude." I said hastily, before she could begin speaking again, and I headed for the stairs. 

"Got no respect that boy!" Trudy's voice called after me crabbily.

The room upstairs was dimly lit by one short stub of candle that stood guttering in the center of the table. The flickering light revealed the faces of the other resistance leaders, giving them a weird and ghostly look. Archibald, (an old adviser of my father's who had somehow survived the massacre when the other nobles were murdered), stooped, wrinkled, and crotchety at times. His bald head was covered in dark liver spots, and one of his eyes was clouded over and white. Despite this however, his remaining eye was piercing in its look, and there was still something commanding about his presence that filled the room when he spoke. Mattias, tall and muscular, with a full red beard, and broad round shoulders that made his head look small in comparison. He was the overseer of the whitestone mines, and when the nobles had been murdered Mattias had been the only person who knew how to run the mines, so Count Tyleeri had been forced to keep him around, though it obviously galled him to do so. Sygn, Mattias's wife, was his complete opposite: short, slim, fair skinned and haired, with a vivacious clever face, and nimble fingers. And last of all, Keeper Yennin, the head priest of the Lady's Chamber: the temple of Erathis, goddess of civilization. A keen, observant old man, with white hair neatly groomed into a small goatee. Strangers might have described him as being 'well preserved,' as he was still remarkably tall and straight for such an old man.

A giant map of the city and the surrounding forrest was spread over the table, and Ivan was already bent over it, arguing in a low voice with Mattias, while the other's looked on. Archibald turned as I entered and I crossed the room to give him a hug. Sygn, who was sitting quietly in the corner, rose to give me a motherly kiss on the cheek, and joined me at the table, keeping her arm around my waist.

"What are they arguing about?" I whispered.

"Ivan thinks we should attack the castle first..." Sygn said with a shrug.

"I thought we already decided that."

"Well I guess Ivan thinks he has a better plan."

"Ivan stop arguing about this." I said, and felt a wave of heat creep up my neck as everyone turned to look at me. I still wasn't used to being the ruling de Rolo. "We've already decided, everyone's in position, we can't ask them to change now."

"The New Nobles aren't the important ones." Ivan said emphatically, bringing his fist down on the table. "If we want to end this we've got to go for the head of the beast, not the hands."

"If we go straight for the Briarwoods then the nobles will bring up reinforcements from behind and we'll be fighting on two fronts." Archibald said gravely.

"I've been trying to tell him that." Mattias said. "But he won't listen."

My finger began to trace over the map as I followed the road out of the city, through the woods, and up the hill to the castle perched above the surrounding valley.   
   

"There's a reason my ancestors built the castle right where it is. There's no way up except the road-" I said, pausing with my finger over the part of the road that climbed up the steep side of the rocky plateau. "And this stretch of road right here is a death trap. There's no way off the road but down, and if that gets cut off then we're as good as dead. We attack the noble houses first, and then when they're out of the way, we attack the Briarwoods."

Ivan huffed and crossed his arms, still not convinced.

"Please Ivan." I said, putting my hands on his shoulders, and looking him straight in the eye. "I need you with me on this...We all need you on this."

There was a moments tense silence as Ivan's eye passed over each face one by one. Archibald, standing gravely with his arms behind him, Yennin, watching all this silently, Mattias, who grinned and gave him a hearty wink, and then Sygn, who smiled gently. Then his eyes came back to my face, and a shuddering sigh passed through him.

"Alright." He said slowly. "I'll follow what ever you decide."

"Good." I said. Another silence settled over us, and this time it was my eye that passed over every face, and on every one I saw an expression of silent expectation. The final decision was up to me. I felt a lump of dismay rise in my throat at the intimidating realization. How could I know any better than they?

"We attack the nobles first." I said at last.

"Alrighty then." Mattias said with a grin. "Lets do this."

"Yennin." I said, turning to the keeper. "If you would say a prayer before we go?"

The keeper nodded, and we all stood silent as he said a quick prayer in Celestial. I had nerver learned Celestial, Percy had parroted the language from dry books years ago, but I'd always struggled too much with learning basic Elvish to have any time for such a complicated language. But just because I didn't understand it, didn't make it any less pleasant to listen to. Celestial was a truly beautiful language, it had an almost liquid resonance, a tender human warmth, and as Yennin spoke a mist of tranquility settled over all who listened. At last Keeper Yennin fell silent, and we all gave a sigh, feeling that somehow the fight had been far off until now.

"Good luck." I said soberly.

A feeling of grim resolve hung in the air as everyone said their whispered goodbyes, and as I looked at each face I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever see some of them again. Sygn gave me a motherly kiss on the cheek, Mattias hugged me so tightly I thought I might have cracked a rib, and Ivan gave my hand a silent squeeze. But it may have been Sygn and Mattias's farewells to each other that saddened me the most. Both of them were going to fight, but not in the same company, and as they embraced in the corner we all looked away instinctively, trying to give them some privacy. At last the goodbyes came to an end and slowly the group dwindled, as first Mattias, then Ivan, then Sygn, and finally Archibald, left the room, leaving me alone with Keeper Yennin.

Neither of us were going to fight, Yennin's divinely inspired spells would be needed for healing, and it had been decided by the other resistance leaders that I should stay and help him. This was the one decision in which my voice had carried no weight, I wanted to fight, but they had adamantly refused, saying that I was the last de Rolo left and they couldn't risk loosing me. Silently we crept down the stairs and found Trudy waiting at the bottom.

"Good luck deary." She said, her voice gentler than usual, and she kissed me on the cheek. Then she pulled down the horse blanket, Yennin helped her remove the boards over the window, and we climbed out into the early morning gray. Leaving Yennin to help Trudy out of the window, I walked back to the square and looked east. The sun was just rising over the top of the sierras in the distance, flooding the valley with pale morning sunlight, and the Suntree's long shadow stretched over the stones of the square like a gaunt and aged hand. At last Trudy managed to extract herself from the window, and with a final goodby to Yennin she set off in one direction and we in another. 

It was much more difficult to hide now that the sun was up, but there was no one who would have noticed our passing, the streets were completely empty. Anyone who wasn't fighting was staying quietly out of sight, old men and women, mothers, and little children all hiding indoors where it was safe. Somewhere across the city I knew Ivan and his followers must be moving through the streets like a silent wave, but they were far away from us. Ivan, though still only a disciple, knew enough divine spells to be a useful healer, and we had decided to give him the group that was farthest from Yennin's aid. 

At last we dropped out of a narrow side alley into one of the main thoroughfares of Whitestone, and across the road could see the Lady's Chamber towering over us. This temple was much larger than the temple to Pelor outside of town. The Zenith was a small compact building, with the simple sanctuary, two rooms for Father Rynoll to use, and the graveyard lying in front.

Erathis was the deity of civilization, and thus her temple was much grander. The whole building was built like a coliseum or half dome structure, that towered over the courtyard like a giant half moon, throwing the prayer benches and plots of grass into shade. It was not a very defendable place, its entire front being open to the street, but it was the largest building at our disposal, and the only one that could shelter many people at a time. We had been hesitant to use it, but Yennin was at his greatest power when surrounded by the symbols of his patron, and in the end that had been enough.

Flitting across the road, we darted into the deep shadows under the temple's towering walls, and Yennin began to bring out his herbs and other healing implements, while I began to search out blankets. Neither of us spoke to each other as we feverishly prepared. I had never associated much with the Keeper when my family was alive, he didn't possess the same fatherly charm that Father Rynoll had. While I did trust Yennin, there was just something about him that put me off and kept him from being anything more to me than a good man. So it was that nothing broke the silence that had fallen over the city, and though I strained my ears I could hear no sounds anywhere.

The silence reminded me of the eery quiet that had fallen over the castle when the Briarwoods had taken over, and I found it hard to think about anything else unless I was busy, so that I compulsively tidied everything I could lay my hands on, and ended up doing tasks many times over...I wished desperately for something to do, even if a healer having nothing to heal was a good thing, but though I might long for work with all my heart there was nothing to do but wait.

As it turned out I didn't have to wait that long before I had work enough to do. We had only been at the temple for twenty or so minutes before distant shouts shattered the silence, and I knew that the fighting had begun. Before long a ragged band of wounded men came straggling into the temple. Some of them weren't badly wounded, but they had needed to help others who were, and Yennin had plenty to do.

"Which company were you with?" I asked one man as I dressed a nasty cut on his forehead, more to distract him from the pain than anything else.

"Mattias..." He said wincing. "We were headed for the Vedmire pig, but we got trapped in a narrow street on the way there, and had a sharp struggle to get out. Mattias and the other men managed to break through, and draw some of the action away from the wounded, but it was still a bad fight...We lost some good men..."

"It's not natural." One of the other men broke in, shaking his head and looking scared. "The way they cornered us, as neat as a rabbit in a trap. It's like they knew exactly where we were coming from, and all they had to do was wait for us to walk right into it." 

"Aye...Not natural at all..." The first man assented darkly, shaking his head. 

"I mean, they couldn't have trapped us more neatly if someone had told them exactly what we were planning."

"Someone close too..." Another man put in, they all glanced suspiciously at me, and fell silent. 

"There you are." I said, trying to act as if I didn't notice their hostility, and admiring my neat handiwork as I tied off the bandage. "Good as new." 

"Thankee..." My patient said guardedly. Slowly he pulled himself to his feet, lifting his buckler shield from where he had set it on the ground, slinging it over one arm, and drawing his sword. "Well boys, let's get back to it." 

The other men grunted in assent and followed him out of the temple. But I noticed that as they filtered off into the narrow lanes and alleys that surrounded the temple, none of them stuck together and they quietly drifted apart, as if by silent agreement. Feeling shaken by the silent suspicion they had leveled at me, I watched them go, and felt a cold lump of dread settle in the pit of my stomach.

Over the next few hours a steady stream of new comers brought news of the different battles, and most of it seemed to run along the same lines. Every narrow street was a death trap, every corner housed some hidden enemy, every inch of progress was won with a hard battle. The men were dispirited, many felt that the fighting was useless, and all agreed that somebody had given a detailed account of our plans to the Briarwoods. It was this perhaps, more than anything else, that disturbed the peace. The men looked at each other suspiciously, the groups that came in a body left by twos and threes, and nobody felt safe with each other. I caught many of them looking at Yennin and me distrustfully. Not that I could blame them, Yennin was in the perfect position to feed information, and none of them knew who I really was.

All this silent suspicion weighed on me, and the time seemed to drag. As the sun was beginning to near the edge of the horizon, a giant column of black smoke began to rise against the fading light, and I felt my spirits rise for a moment. It was the first real sign of change or progress we had seen.

"That's Sir Kerrion's house, I'm sure of it!" One of the men said excitedly, and the others cheered. 

"Ivan..." I said, getting to my feet and looking up at the thick column of smoke, feeling a faint smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

"I hope the fucker roasts to death in his bed!" One of the few female fighters shouted rowdily, and she spat on the ground, drawing cries of accent from her fellows. They began exchanging insults, describing all the horrible ways they hoped Sir Kerrion was suffering at that moment, and the whole temple seemed pervaded by a sense of good cheer and invigorated spirits. Everyone seemed heartened by the distant smoke. Several of the soldiers who had already received attention from Yennin set off into the city, to eager to wait for the rest of their fellows, and I noticed that they stuck together this time, instead of drifting apart as I had seen so many other groups do before. 

As I watched them vanish into the shadowed alleys a man came stumbling out of the darkness, covered in blood, with a horrible groove in his right shoulder where someone had ripped a chunk of the muscle out. He staggered to his knees at the edge of the temple as if the last of his strength was completely spent. I could see that he was only just barely alive, and I leapt forward to help him. 

"What company?" I asked for probably the hundredth time that day, and I pulled his arm over my shoulder to help him up. He let out a cry of pain when I lifted him, and as his blood soaked into my shirt I saw that he was absolutely covered in slashes all over his body. 

"Mattias..." He gasped, gritting his teeth against the pain as I half helped, half dragged him across the courtyard, out of the growing shadows of dusk, into the torchlit interior of the temple. 

"Yennin!" I shouted urgently, dragging my burden forward, and Yennin hastily crossed the temple to help me. 

"I bring grave tidings." The man choked out, squeezing Yennin's arm urgently, as if afraid he was going to collapse before he could speak. 

"Not here my friend." Yennin said quickly, looking apprehensively at the other men in the temple. Relieving me of my burden, Yennin swiftly lifted the man, as if he weighed no more than a small child and carried him to an abandoned corner of the temple. 

"What's your name?" I asked as Yennin set the man gently down.

"Peter..."

But before he could say anything more Yennin began to mutter under his breath, drawing his holy symbol from under his priest's robe. His hand began to glow with divine light, and I could see shimmering white energy begin to cloud the surface of his eyes until they were featureless white orbs. Peter seemed taken aback, and started to scramble away, looking alarmed. I seized him by his good shoulder, holding him still. 

Completing his spell, Yennin reached forward and placed his hands on the top of Peter's head. Peter let out a relieved sigh, and I could see his wounds beginning to heal as Yennin let go of him. Most of the cuts only barely healed over, turning into fresh pinkish scars, but the bloody hole where the muscles in his neck and shoulder used to be was completely healed, the skin becoming as smooth and whole as if it was an old, long healed wound.

"Now tell us your news..." Yennin said wearily, seeming shrunken, as if a great deal of power had just gone out of him.

"Mattias is dead." Peter said tiredly. I felt hot tears rise to my eyes, twisting my throat, and I dropped to my knees, shaken by the news. Yennin only nodded gravely, seeming to become older and grayer than before.

"Tell us everything." He commanded wearily.

"It was a hard battle all the way there." Peter said, and I struggled to pull myself together, and keep myself in check. "They seemed to anticipate us at every turn, catch us again and again, everything we did seemed to be known before hand...Like they could read our minds...We lost many good fighters. After a hard struggle we managed to push into Vedmire's house, but when we got in they trapped us from behind so we couldn't get out again. And Vedmire..." Peter paused and shuddered.

"That creature ain't natural. Mattias must have hit him over twenty times. Any normal man would have been hacked to pieces, but Vedmire just stood there laughing, reacting no more than a stone would've if you took it into your head to try and take a slash at it. He had a sword, 'bout as big as he was. I swear, that thing was almost nine feet long. Mattias tried to take him down, but he just grinned and ran Mattias through in one thrust."

I shut my eyes and turned my face away, trying not to imagine it. I thought of Sygn out there somewhere, fighting for her life, while all the while half of her life was already gone. It almost felt as if my tears were more for her than him. Peter paused, getting his voice back under control. Yennin whispered a prayer under his breath, offering Mattias's soul up to Erathis.

"We never would have made it out at all, but Ivan came at the last minute." Peter said, clearing his throat and continuing, as if determined to tell all, no matter how painful it might be for him, or us. "His group had managed to set Sir Karrion's house on fire and burn it almost to the ground, but then they got driven back. He came just in time too, if he had showed up just a minute later...That Goliath's sword was deadly, he could take a whole group out in just one swing. But Ivan managed to bring some of us back from the edge of death, and get us out of Vedmire's house before we were all slaughtered. He was headed back towards Sir Kerrion's house when I left them. He sent me back to bring word of Mattias's death..."

"Erathis keep his soul..." Yennin said, more to himself than to us. Then he cleared his throat and patted Peter on the shoulder. "Thank you my friend. You've had a hard fight, get a little rest."

Slowly Yennin went back to his duties among the other men. I wandered away from Peter, out towards the edge of the temple, looking out at the setting sun. Its lurid smear of red seemed to mirror my inner thoughts, and I stared out at it, not really taking it in, or understanding any of it.

Of all the resistance leaders, Mattias and Sygn had been the most like family to me. Both of them had strongly reminded me of my mother and father, not only in age, but in character as well. If anyone could have ever come close to replacing my real father, it might have been Mattias...And now he was dead...But I felt more grief for Sygn than for me. They had never had children. Mattias was all she had. 

At last, the sun sank beneath the horizon, and as its last tinges of red faded from the sky a group of ragged soldiers came flying out of the growing darkness, and stumbled into the temple. They looked weary, bloody, and defeated. Most of them seemed badly wounded, and all of them were completely exhausted. As they entered, I felt my heart grow cold.

I didn't have to ask which company they came from, for Sygn was with them, being half carried by one of her men.


	4. A Daughter of Whitesone

"Here's a sight that warms my heart..." Sygn said wearily, as I hurried forward, and she leaned heavily on my arm. "I don't think I've ever been so happy to see another person's face..."

I helped her over to the stone dais in the middle of the temple, and gently lowered her onto the stone steps, looking her over attentively. It was easy to see that she had been through a lot, for her breathing was labored, blood stained her teeth, and she had one gloved hand over her side, where blood was slowly seeping through her fingers

"You got trapped didn't you?" I asked, as I tried to get Yennin's attention in the distance.

"In the house, aye..." Sygn assented wearily. "It was a piece of cake until then. We could hear fighting in other parts of the city, but we met virtually no resistance, and we easily overcame anything that stood in our way. It didn't feel right to me, but it wasn't like we could turn back..."

Yennin had crossed the temple by this time, and he muttered a short incantation under his breath, placing his hands against her head. For a moment his hands seemed to glow, then the divine light seeped into Sygn's skin and the wound in her side stopped bleeding.

"Thank you my friend." Sygn said with a sigh of relief, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Did you find Ripley?" I asked.

"No." She answered, shaking her head, and wincing as I began to help her remove her armor. "When we broke into the house there was a whole host of men, just waiting to trap us in, and we barely made it out. Most of them didn't make it, and the few of us left didn't have time to look for her. We barely managed to escape as it was...I'm sorry...We would have killed her if we could."

"I know." I said, patting her shoulder. For a moment Sygn's dark eyes searched my face, then she nodded and leaned back against the stone steps of the dais. I went back to undoing her armor, and at last managed to pull off the leather breast plate, revealing her shirt underneath, soaked with blood.

"What kind of weapon?"

"Spear. How bad is it?" She asked as I examined the wound, and she drew in a sharp breath as I began to gently pull the skin back so that I could see the wound better.

"Not that serious actually, it looks worse than it is." I said finally, pulling away, and she let out a sigh of relief. "It only grazed you, you should be fine after I bind it, although it'll leave a nasty scar..."

"Good!" Sygn said laughing. "Mattias thinks scars are sexy."

I tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a sob than a laugh. "He'd be glad you're ok..."

"I know!" Sygn said, seeming for a moment not to notice the catch in my voice, then her eyes met mine and her face went pale "How is that man of mine anyway?"

"I don't know." I said, wishing that anyone else had been burdened with this task, and starting to bind her side, trying to hide my face. 

"Bullshit!" Sygn said with frightening force, seizing my chin, her fingers sinking painfully into my skin, and forcing me to look up into her face. "How. Is. He." 

"He's--" The heartbreaking mixture of anger and fear on her face overpowered me and I broke off, unable to get any farther. Sygn let out a gasp of pain, as if she had been stabbed, and sank back against the stone steps of the dais, her hand limply releasing me. Her grief wasn't like mine. Mine was wild and emotional, hers was cold and still, like a frozen wasteland. I searched her face for signs of emotion as I continued to bind her side, but her face was as still as a stone, and I found reading it quite beyond my power. But looking at her eyes I could see them slowly hardening, turning from grief into anger. 

"Hey! And just where do you think you're going?" A strange voice called out over the low murmur of conversation that filled the temple, and I turned to look. One of the men had risen, and was standing at the edge of the temple, holding the point of his sword to the neck of a small boy who had appeared out of the darkness and stood trembling at the edge of the temple.

"Please sir." The boy stammered, obviously frightened out of his wits, holding out a sealed letter. "They told me to give you this..."

"Who told you?"

"Please sir." Was all the boy said in reply, eyes wide with fear, holding out the letter pleadingly.

Slowly the man  lowered his sword, and reached out to take the letter out of they boy's grasp. The moment he had done so, the boy turned and fled into the darkness, his pattering footsteps fading into silence. The man stared down at the letter, every eye fixed on him. Tense expectant silence filled the temple, as he turned over the letter, broke the seal, and began to read the letter aloud, his voice the only sound in the stillness.

_My dear friends, I am afraid it is my regretful duty to inform you that your comrades have laid down their arms. At present they are being entertained by the hospitality of Count Tyleeri. We do not wish to shed blood needlessly, and if you lay down your weapons now and surrender, their lives will be spared. However, should you choose to fight on, know that you and your companions will be dealt with most severely. The choice is yours. We give you a half an hour to deliberate among yourselves, as a sign of good fellowship._

_Signed, Lord Silas Briarwood._

A deadly silence fell over the temple after this note was read. Then like a slowly rising tide, the silence was broken by doubtful murmurs, that hissed through the stillness of the temple.

"What are we going to do..." One of the men said.

"Stuff it in their fat, ugly gob, of course." Sygn said fiercely. "Sorry Keeper."

"It's alright my friend." Yennin said gravely. "At this moment any blasphemies fall on deaf ears. I assure you, Erathis hears nothing."

"You heard what the letter said: If we keep fighting now then we're virtually our comrades executioners!" A voice broke in, and the others nodded. Looking around the circle of men I could see agreement on many faces, some seemed fearful, others exhausted, some were even looking at Sygn challengingly.

"What does that letter change?" Sygn said, struggling to her feet, and striding into the center of the circle. "This morning every one of you would gladly have given your lives for this city! What is different now?"

"Those men out there are our brothers." Said a young man with sandy hair, stepping out from the rest and pointing out into the dusk, facing Sygn defiantly. "They're our friends, and now you want us to abandon them to death and torment? Break all bonds of fellowship and continue to fight a battle we cannot win?"

"If you respect the oaths that your friends have taken you will keep on fighting." Sygn said passionately. "You, and those men out there swore to give everything they had for this city, already many have given everything they had. My husband gave his life for this city. I will gladly give the same."

"You're a fool." The young man said, spitting on the ground. "Every inch of ground we've won with a useless battle, the fallen blood of our brothers has accomplished nothing, we have changed nothing. All of us are worse off than when we started, and now you want us to needlessly throw away the lives of our friends, when the battle is clearly over."

A rebellious murmur ran around the group, and I looked around ever face with a slowly growing chill. Is this what they will bring us to? My family was dead and gone, Mattias was dead and gone, the Suntree was dead and gone, so many were dead and gone...It felt like a rising tide of death that would surely choke me. _Do we really give up and surrender?_

"The battle isn't over until we say it is." I said, my voice ringing resolute and unbending through the temple. It was the first time I had spoken in front of so many people, and the men around me looked at me shocked. Most of them had forgotten I was there. Sygn, and the young man both turned to look at me, Sygn with rising admiration, and the man with growing anger.

"And who are you?" The young man demanded insolently, striding across the circle, and stepping obtrusively close to me. Even drawn up to my full height I was still a foot shorter than him, and standing this close to him I had to strain my neck to look up into his face.

"My name is Cassandra Johanna Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo." I said coldly. "Fredrick de Rolo was my father."

At the sound of my full name complete silence filled the courtyard. Everyone recognized my name, even if only a few of them had known my face belonged to it, and every face I looked at was awed. I had always known that my parents were powerful people, and I knew that the folk of the city respected them, but my parents had sheltered me from most of this revere.

Nobody in my family had ever treated me so reverently, and I had always thought that it was my parents themselves, and not their titles that inspired so much respect. I had never guessed that my name could command so much power. The tangible reverence in the room almost frightened me, and I wavered. If the young man had challenged my authority now I would certainly have backed down, but far from challenging me, he stepped away from me, his face a mask of doubt.

"I am a direct descendant of the original builders of Whitestone." I said, gathering my courage and raising my voice again. The words formed in my mind, coming easily, effortlessly, crafting the perfect mix of power over my people, and at the same time servitude under them. After all, how many times had I heard Julius make speeches just like this? It was like reading words from a page, repeating like a parrot what I'd heard my brother and sister say countless times.

"My ancestors have ruled over this valley for centuries. I am burdened with the task of protecting this city, and you owe me your allegiance."

I took a hesitant step down into the circle, and the young man gave way before me. Once more reassured, I paced forward, searching the circle of faces around me. The men around me seemed both fearful and respectful, Sygn was grinning fiercely, Yennin was standing in the back on the stone dais, watching with crossed arms, but I could see a lingering smile at the corner of his mouth.

"This battle is not over." I said forcefully. "I will fight, and if you are my brethren then you will pick up your swords, and you will fight with me to the death--to what ever end, no matter how dire--for this city. Or you will prove yourselves traitors, and turncoats, worse than cowards..."

My words had not been without affect. As I looked around the circle some men cast their eyes shamefacedly downward, but others met my gaze respectfully, and on some I could even see triumphant smiles like Sygn's. I felt the fire in my heart growing, and the love of my family that I read in the eyes of the men around me filled me with hope.

"The rule of my family was once made of stone, and blood, and iron." I said at last, breaking the hush that had fallen over the men. "Don't let it crumble into dust. I beg you, fight for me, for all of us."

"I will." Sygn said, her eyes blazing, and drawing her short sword from its sheath. For a long moment everything was terribly still, and I was torn between hope and despair. Then slowly, grudgingly in some cases, others drew their swords, while some stood silent, arms limp at their sides.

"For those of you who have chosen to turn aside..." I said slowly. "I think it would be best for you to return home, to your wives and children, to wait out the storm with them. I don't grudge you your choice, each of you has his own reasons for turning back, and wish you a very fond farewell."

Slowly the men left the temple one by one, filtering into the dusk and vanishing into the narrow streets. Some, after hesitating for a moment, turned back and rejoined the group of remaining soldiers. Everyone left looked at me respectfully, and I felt an indescribable thrill run through me as I looked at them. In theory I had always been the ruling de Rolo, but now it was more than a theory, it was here before my very eyes. These men were willing to fight to the death for me. And as I looked around at them I could feel a sense of steely resolve creeping over me. Just as they would willingly die for me, I would willingly die for them.

"So whats the plan?" Sygn said eagerly, bloodlust glittering in her eyes, and resheething her sword.

"It's like Ivan said: go for the head of the beast not the hands, it's time to go after the Briarwoods." I said lowering my voice so that the men had to gather closely around me. "We don't have enough men to storm the castle. Our remaining hope is speed and secrecy."

"How are we going to get in?" One of the men asked doubtfully. "The gate looks right over the road, and theres no shelter on the way up. They could rain down arrows on us and kill us all before we get there."

"We won't be using the road." I said. "Theres another way up to the castle. I used it to escape years ago. It's a secret tunnel that leads up into the dungeon, too small for large numbers to pass through, but for an assassination mission like this it's perfect."

"I'm all for it." Sygn said with a mirthless laugh, and the other men nodded, silently agreeing with her.

"Very well." I said grimly. "Anybody who is fit to fight should leave now. Go by twos and threes, try not to call attention to yourselves, and head west. I'll meet you at the edge of the city. Anybody that needs healing, stay and Yennin will attend to you."

As soon as I had finished speaking clustered groups of soldiers began to filter off into the growing darkness. Yennin stepped down from the dais, and put one hand on Sygn's arm, clenching a hand around the symbol of Erathis that hung on his neck, muttering a divine spell under his breath. After a moment a faint light began to filter from under the bandage around her side and she let out a relieved sigh. One by one Yennin began to move among the other wounded men, healing them. Slowly the number of men left dwindled, as they filter off, until at last it was just Yennin, Sygn, and I, standing alone in the temple.

"Well..." I said slowly, looking at them both. "This is it..."

"Are you going to accompany us my friend?" Asked Sygn gently, taking Yennin my the arm, and looking at him hopefully.

"I'm afraid I can't." Yennin said sadly. "I wouldn't be much use to you I'm afraid, I'm completely exhausted."

"Farewell then." Sygn said, smiling and clapping him on the shoulder.

"If you see any of the others again, tell them it was an honor to know them." I said, thinking of my friends out there in the city somewhere, either captured or dead.

"Good luck, daughter of Whitestone." Yennin said, putting a heavy hand on my arm, and speaking with some emotion. I felt a wave of serenity wash through me as his hand touched my arm, and I breathed more deeply, feeling my resolve harden. "May the blessing of Erathis go with you."

Turning away, Sygn and I set off to the darkness, moving swiftly through the streets towards our oncoming doom. For it was our doom that we went to face. I knew that either I would succeed, and avenge my family, or I would fail, and perish in the attempt. The thought of going to my end didn't frighten me, for if I died I was only following where my family had gone before me, and to have such an end filled me with a sense of grim joy. What better way could I wish to die than this: giving my life for my family, for my people, for my home? Yes. I thought grimly. If my life must end, I'm glad that this is my end.

Though the growing shadows of night we flitted, weaving among the darkened buildings, over the wall, and out into the open fields beyond. The stars were slowly coming into focus, filling the inky black sky overhead, and in front of me I could see the wheat fields stretching out to the tree line some acres away. As I watched the wheat began to shift as one by one my men came creeping out of the darkness, offering Sygn and I whispered greetings.

"It's up to you darling, lead the way." Sygn whispered softly.

Taking the lead, I moved west, towards the shelter of the trees. As we neared the edge of the woods I could see a shadowed figure shift under the trees, and I sank down into the wheat, holding my hands out sideways.  
   

"Who goes there?!" A man's voice called out, echoing through the silence of the forest, and I held my breath. "Show yourself!"  
   

There was a flicker of movement, then the flash of someone striking a flint and steel, and by the faint shower of sparks I could just make out the shadow of a man with his back to us, trying to light a torch in his hand. Without hesitating, without a single thought, I surged across the last stretch of open ground between me and him, drawing Traitor as I did. Before I knew what I was doing I had seized him from behind, and run my sword across his throat. For a moment afterward I held him upright, keeping my hand over his mouth, just in case other sentinels were nearby. Then I felt the life leave him, and I dropped him in a heap in the grass at the edge of the trees. Sygn and the rest of the men came slinking through the darkness, and I felt Sygn put a hand on my shoulder as she passed me.

It was almost pitch black underneath the forest canopy, the moon wasn't up yet, and the starlight hardly pierced the overlapping branches. The forest around me was a maze of shadows. As I looked up, I could sometimes pierce through the tree cover to get a glimpse of the stars, and my eyes could pick out many familiar constellations that brought back vivid memories of studying the stars from the western tower with my older siblings. I had hated it. Professor Anders said that the stars were clearer in the winter time, so when ever we climbed the western tower (which was the tallest one) it had been absolutely freezing at the top, exposed to the winter wind with nothing but the stars around us, and all I could think about was how soon we were going to go back down again. Which was a shame, because I had actually been pretty good at Astronomy, when I put my mind to it. The charts and graphs had all been beyond me, but the mythology behind the various constellations had all fascinated me, and I had eagerly learned everything Anders taught us.

But thinking about Anders brought back his betrayal of my family. He had let Anna just walk right into the house, and she had tortured my brother. Vengeful thoughts filled my mind, and my momentary recollections of happier days were spoiled. I was back to being Cassandra, the leader of a war who wouldn't hesitate to kill another, and the old, soft Cassandra was little more than a dream. Two years of silent resentment had changed me. I wasn't entirely pleased with the person I had turned into. And sometimes, when I looked back on who I used to be, how carefree I was, I felt a faint sense of regret. I had to admit, if none of this had happened, I might have been a truly lovely woman. As it was, I was not that lovely woman, and I never could be.

These thoughts swirled in the back of my head as I crept between the thick tree trunks, and I hardly noticed the way we took, instead letting my feet carry me. The other men could sense my abstractedness, and they gave me a wide birth, so that I traveled in a little circle of empty underbrush that nobody disturbed. Slowly my thoughts grew painful however, as they usually did when I paid any attention to them, and I endeavored to brush them aside, my eyes stinging. Forcefully I turned my mind back to the matters at hand, and looked up through the trees again, trying to find something to occupy me. The moon was just beginning to creep over the edge of the horizon, it's pale white light peeking down into the valley, and as I looked up I could now make out Castle Whitestone towering over us, it's walls glimmering ever so slightly in the moonlight, the towers thrust up into the sky like shadowed sentinels. We were getting very close now.

Moving swiftly I crept back to the front of the company, touching Sygn on the shoulder to let her know I was there. She gave a faint start, then turned, saw it was only me, and immediately yielded her place to me, letting me take the lead and following a few steps behind. As we drew nearer and nearer to the castle I began to recognize objects around me, even thought the moonlight gave them a strange and ghostly aspect. We were steadily getting nearer and nearer to that part of the forest that I knew very very intimately, having lived and played among these trees all my life, and as I looked around me I felt a kind of bitter recognition. I remembered hunting in these woods with my father, our whole family used to come berry picking every summer when the strawberries were ripe, my brothers and I would hike through these woods down to the river.

And then suddenly I came upon a tree that I vividly remembered. Percy and I had run this way when we had been pursued by the Briarwood's men, and when I looked at the other trees around me I could trace the path I had followed as we fled. I could pick out a tough branch that I had tripped over, I could recall where I placed my hand against one of the trees when I stood up, the shadows seemed to morph and transform into patches of bright moonlight, and I could almost imagine the sounds of pursuit behind me as I ran. Then I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder, the brief spell was broken, and I shook myself, feeling like a sleeper waking from a vivid dream. I couldn't see Sygn's face in the darkness, but I could picture the concerned look I knew must be there, and I gave her hand a grateful squeeze.

"We're close." I whispered, an turned east, leading the way back towards the castle, retracing my steps. As I went I struggled to remain focused on the task at hand. It was very hard, as I looked at the familiar trees around me, not to get lost in the memory of my rapid flight through these very woods. The castle, now directly in front of us, towered over the surrounding forrest, looming in the darkness above our heads. The leaping flames that had illuminated the castle on the night of the attack were gone now, and through the growing shadows of night it was difficult to make out details. As we neared the castle the trees began to thin out a little, and I dropped down to my knees, creeping through the sparse underbrush. Through the trunks of the trees I could see the craggy sides of the towering ridge Castle Whitestone was built on, and at the cliff's base, loosely obscured by bushes, I could just barely make out the secret tunnel's dark yawning entrance. We were so close, I could almost taste my vengeance on the tip of my tongue, my nerves were tingling with anticipation. We were so close.

Suddenly the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I caught a flash of movement in the corner of my eye. I just barely managed to dodge out of the way as shadowed figure came springing out of the shadows to my left. I saw the flash of a blade in the moonlight and ducked underneath. An arrow hissing over my head as I did. Behind me I could hear shouting, and a second arrow swished by me. The shadowed figure slashed at me again, and I dodged to the side, drawing the Traitor as I did.  
   

"Come here!" My attacker shouted, frustrated, and he brought his sword down towards me, it's blade flashing in the patches of moonlight. This time I managed to deflect his blow. A ringing clash filling the trees as his blade slid down the length of mine. With a grunt I kicked him in the knee, and he stumbled back with a cry of pain.  
   

After the first shock I felt no fear. Johanna de Rolo, my mother, had taught me how to use a blade. I could feel the balance of Traitor in my hand. I could feel the weight of it, the leather binding on the hilt under my fingers, the pulse of blood through my palms as I clenched the hilt in an iron grip. Everything around me seemed to become crystal clear, the shadows deeper, the moonlight brighter. My senses seemed to expand and sharpen so that I was aware of everything, every tiny sound, every flicker of movement. I was on fire.

Taking advantage of his momentary unbalance I surged to my feet. Raining down blows on him as I pressed him backwards. It didn't feel like a battle anymore. It was a deadly dance. Where one misstep would mean death. At last I found an opening, and I kicked at his knee again, hitting the same spot I had before. This time he dropped to his knees. And before he had time to regain his feet I swept his head off.

Sygn had been a few steps behind me when the ambush was sprung, and as I turned I saw her on the ground a few feet away from me. She hadn't been as lucky as me, and her attacker had managed to shove her to the ground. Attacking from behind, I grabbed the back of his armor, and ran my sword through his chest.

"Thanks." Sygn said as I pulled her to her feet, breathing hard. With a pat on her shoulder, I turned back into the fray, Sygn following me. The woods around me were in complete and utter confusion. In the maze of shadows I was able to flit from enemy to enemy, striking unexpectedly out of the darkness. But the battle was hopeless. Enemies were leaping out of the shadows, and even in the confusion of battle I could tell that there were far more of them than there were of us. We were outnumbered.  
   

"What do we do?" I shouted over the din, ducking as an arrow came streaking through the darkness in my direction.  
   

"Somebody's got to get into that castle." Sygn said, dragging me by the arm behind a moss covered rock, half barried in the ground, and dropping down behind it's scanty shelter. I collapsed next to her, breathing hard, feeling the wet earth against my cheek.

"It's too late." I panted, shaking my head. "They knew we were coming. A surprise attack was all we had."

"Dammit!!!" Sygn exclaimed angrily, slamming her fist into the rock's mossy surface, and huffing furiously. "How do they always know?!? I swear, if I ever find out who..." And she broke off, biting her lip angrily, not trusting herself to say anything more. I patted her shoulder sympathetically.

"We need to get in that castle." Sygn finally said, breaking her frustrated silence and looking up at the white walls towering over us, her eyes calculating. "It would only take one person to kill the Briarwoods, if they caught them off guard. All we need is one person, just one person, to make it in unnoticed."

"Sygn, that's a suicide misson." I said incredulously.

"If we stay out here we're dead anyway."

It was tempting...and what did I have left to lose anyway? Hadn't I said earlier that I would willingly die for my people? That either I would get my revenge, or I would die in the attempt. This whole mission had been a long shot from the beginning...

"Let's do it." I said. Sygn grinned, and I put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a hearty squeeze, then I rose to my feet and lunged over the top of the rock back into the battle. The shadows around me almost seemed to boil as half veiled figures of friend and foe exchanged blows. Arrows hissed through the air around me, and blades flashed at me in the darkness. At the edge of the trees a shadowed figure lunged at me out of the darkness. I ducked under his arm. Turned to slash him in the back. He fell.

We had reached the end of the fighting, the trees came to an end, only a short stretch of tufty grass and pine needles stood between me and my goal. Then, for the first time in two years, I saw stepping out of the tunnel, his form clearly illuminated by moonlight, Lord Silas Briarwood. I felt a wave of cold wash through my body at the sight of him, then a burst of raging heat. Vaguely I knew that his appearance meant the death of our last hopes, but the knowledge meant nothing to me, and the only thing I was aware of at that moment was pure, undiluted, hatred. A sense of fierce lust filled me, and I wanted nothing more than to strike him with my blade, to hurt him like he had hurt me, to end his life. I hated him.

"SILAS." I shouted, my voice piercing through the surrounding forrest like a knife, and I took off running up the last few feet of open ground. He turned at the sound of my voice, and I slashed out at his face, but he stepped out of the way. Twice more I struck at him, but both times he dodged to the side, moving with uncanny speed.

 _"Be careful."_ Mother's voice whispered in the back of my head, barely audible over the confusion of my thoughts and the blood pounding in my ears. _"Don't ever let your emotions get the better of you in battle. Your anger is a useful tool, but you've got to control it, the moment you let it get the better of you it will kill you."_

I pulled in a steadying breath, and stepped back, raising Traitor in front of me defensively. Silas grinned as I stepped away, and reached up to his back, drawing a long broad sword that had been sheathed there. I felt a slight chill of fear run over me at the sight of it.

It was completely black, and absorbed the moonlight, so that it's smooth surface was completely dull. The shadows of the surrounding night almost seemed to be drawn to it, swathing it in deeper shadows, and black steam was drifting from it, drawing a elegant trail of black smoke in it's wake as Silas drew it. My eyes slowly traveled up the length of the blade, and I felt my courage shake for a moment, before I steeled my resolve and gripped my sword tighter.

Hefting the giant blade as if it weighed no more than a feather, Silas slashed at my face. I just barely managed to duck underneath, the sword swishing over my head. Silas grinned and brought the blade back, aiming at my legs to try and trip me. I dodged over his backswing. Tumbling in the grass I rolled back to my feet, gripping my short sword tightly. 

I slashed for his chest, returning his attacks for the first time. My blow struck nothing however. Once again Silas danced back, the sword missing him by mere inches. For a moment I felt a wave of frustration at my inability to hit him, then he brought his blade back up and swept it across my chest. I just managed to dance back before he could cut me in half, but the blade slashed across the front of my torso, sending a stab of pain through my chest. And as it cut through my leather armor, like it was nothing more than butter, agony tightened in my lungs.

As the sword touched me black smoke coalesced and thickened around the blade, and a deadly chill seemed to strike me to the core, draining my strength. I let out a gasp of pain, severely shaken by the momentary contact, and backed away. My legs felt wobbly and weak, and I desperately struggled to regain my balance. For a moment crushing numbness seemed to rob my body of all sensation, then a prick of pain filtered through and the numbness faded. Warm sticky blood now began to soak into the front of my armor. Silas was laughing, mocking my consternation, and I felt a burst of heat as my fury blazed up again. With an angry growl I gripped Traitor's hilt again, cracking my neck and planting my feet.

Silas's grin faded a little as my fear evaporated, and he flourished his blade, returning to the attack. He moved with unnatural speed, slashing at me again and again, pressing me backwards. With every contact my sword gave an angry shudder. I could feel the deadly strength behind every hit. At last I felt smooth stone against my back. He had pinned me against the face of the castle hill that towered over me, there was no where to go but into his arms. Driven by desperation, I lunged forward, slipping underneath his blade as he brought it towards me. It struck against the stone behind me in a shower of sparks. With all my strength I planted my shoulder in his gut and drove him backwards down the short incline, out of the castle's shadow into the moonlight. Bringing up my sword I slashed at his face and for the first time managed to hit him, striking up across his chest and face.

An involuntary exclamation of pain burst through Silas's lips, and he recoiled from me, bringing a hand up to his face. Dark crimson stained his fingers when he brought the hand away. With a cry of anger I struck at him again, taking advantage of his momentary distraction. Moving as swift as lightning, his hand shot up and seized my blade, halting it's progress. More dark purplish blood trickled down the blade. But the pain didn't seem to bother him, and he yanked me towards him, bringing my face right into his. I saw a glimmer of recognition flash in his eyes as he looked at my face.

Brought so close to him, I could smell the blood that streaked down his face. The copper scent filled my brain. His burning breath scorched my face. I could watch the tiny rippling of muscle as he ground his teeth. I wrenched away from him, trying to free myself. A deadly contest of strength. But he was immovable. I couldn't overpower him. Then I was diverted, as my eyes were drawn to the line of blood I had drawn across his flesh. The slash I had made was starting to knit back together. The smooth surface of his skin slowly reforming. His flesh steadily stitching together leaving no scar. Blood pulling back into the wound.

"That's hardly fair." I snarled. Dropping my free hand to my belt, I yanked my dagger from its sheath and slashed out at his face again. Without releasing his hold on my blade, he brought his sword hand up, trapping my arm with the dagger under his. For a moment we engaged in an desperate struggle as I tried to pull free of him, his breath whispering across my face. Then he dropped his blade to the ground. His hand snaked around the back of my head, and he seized a thick handful of my hair. Shoving me to my knees, he yanked my head back. And I was forced to look into his eyes.

As my eyes met his I could sense a heavy oppressive force behind them, and I tried to look away as it fixated on me. A stab of pain seared through my head as an overwhelming attack assaulted my mind, brutally forcing it's way into my head, and I tried to pull away. The hand that held my hair had become like iron and I couldn't get loosen its grip. I tried to summon my remaining strength to fight back. But I could only hold my ground for a mere moment before Silas's gazed beat down all resistance, I gave way, and his presence flooded into my head...

A dizzying rush of elation flooded over me, and I staggered, confounded by the force of the feeling. It was as if an unbearable burden had been lifted from my shoulders, leaving me feeling weightless and giddy. All my anger, all my grief, all my crushing loneliness was gone, replaced by an indescribable sense of exhilaration. My family wasn't gone, here it was right in front of me. Silas Briarwood was where my true allegiance belonged.

My eyes caught the cut that I had made on his cheek and I felt an over powering surge of remorse that bowed me under its weight. How could I have done that? What was I thinking?! I looked back on the anger I had felt just seconds before now, and I was filled with disgust as myself. Silas had ripped aside the blindfold of hatred, and now I could see. The change was so sudden it dizzied me, but impetuously I thew my arms around him, my feelings getting the better of me.

"Thank you..." I sobbed, wishing there was some way to express what I felt, but I couldn't begin to find words enough to express it. Silas smiled condescendingly down at me, patting my cheek as he released me, and I felt a rush of gratitude at the gesture. Then, giving me no further notice, he turned and began walking down towards the tree line. With nothing else to do, I hesitantly followed him, still feeling guilty for hurting him. Most of the fighting was over by this time, the few men that remained had been driven right to the edge of the trees, and I could pick out Sygn's petite form among them.

"Seize them." Silas shouted, his voice booming through the trees.

Some of the men, seeing that they were outnumbered four to one by this time, dropped their weapons, and quietly allowed themselves to be captured. A few of the braver ones looked rebellious, but before they could do anything, Lord Briarwood's men overpowered them and forced them to the ground. It took four men to overpower Sygn, and even then she was still struggling, after the fight was clearly over.

"Sygn please!" I called out, torn between admiration and disapproval of her behavior. "Just stay still."

At the sound of my voice Sygn stopped moving and looked up, confusion sweeping across her face at the sight of me standing unharmed next to Lord Briarwood. The distraction was enough, and she was wrestled to the ground, hands pinned behind her back, and one of the captors seized her sword.

"Bring her here." Silas commanded, and Sygn's four captors dragged her to us, forcing her to her knees in front of Lord Briarwood. Her eyes were blazing, and she made an effort to sit a little taller, blowing the hair out of her face, and looking at him defiantly.

"You're a strong warrior..." Lord Briarwood said thoughtfully. Slowly he reached out, his hand sliding around the back of Sygn's head, and he bent down looking right into her face. I watched as the veins in her throat tensed, and she bit her lip till it bled. Then a scornful grin crossed her face, and mustering all her strength, she spat at Silas.

"Fuck off." She said, her voice dripping with disdain, and Lord Briarwood released her.

"Sygn no!" I said, a knot of cold twisting in my stomach.

"Kill her." Silas said, and his voice was frigid as ice, but a flicker of anger burned in his eyes.

"NO!" I protested, surging forward, but one of Silas's men had already run a sword across Sygn's throat. A sob of strangled grief burst from me as Sygn fell in the grass and I dropped to my knees, hot tears blurring my vision, mercifully veiling her from my sight. My hands groped blindly until they found her body, and I pulled her towards me, lifting her into my lap, feeling the warmth of her body, the softness of her hair tangled in my fingers.

"Cassandra..." Silas said kindly, taking me gently by the shoulders, and pulling me to my feet. In my despair I was in no state to fight him, and I let him lift me. Slowly his arms wrapped around me, his hand brushing over my back like Mother used to do, and with another sob I crumpled into him, desperate for someone to comfort me. My tears overwhelmed me and I wept, bowed with grief for another loved one dead and gone.


	5. Dust and Echos

Waking up in my bed the next morning felt like some kind of surreal dream. Like I had traveled back in time nearly three years, to my own bed, my own room where I had grown up. Absolutely nothing was changed, and when I opened my eyes, I found myself looking up at the same stone ceiling and dark red draperies over my bed that my eyes had looked at over a hundred times. White morning sunlight was peeking through the heavy velvet curtains, faintly illuminating the room, and as I turned my head on my pillow I could see a lance of white light across the stone floor, exactly as I had seen it every morning as far back as I could remember.

Lying untouched on the bedside table was the thick book of military tactics that Mother had let me borrow all that time ago, and I could even see my bookmark sticking out of the back of the book, between the pages and the binding, where I always put it when I was reading. If I tried hard I could almost believe that my family was still alive. That Ludwig would come bursting in at any moment, telling me to come down to the garden and look at the newest contraption Percy had rigged up, or that my maid would come in soon to help me dress for breakfast. But nobody came.

At last I sat up, swung my feet out from under the warm covers, and I rose to pull the curtains back. Sunlight flooded into the room, shining over the worn rug on the floor, my dressing table in one corner, the wardrobe in the other, and my bed with the covers thrown carelessly aside. I could see all my personal belongings scattered over the dressing table: hairpins, scraps of paper I had doodled on, bits of wax from the two candles, and my jewelry box shoved off to one side. Not that there was any jewelry in it, or any reason to really call it a jewelry box other than the fact that it had been made to hold jewelry, for the only thing I owned was a pearl necklace Aunt Eleanor had given me for my sixteenth birthday. Going to the wardrobe, I found all my clothes hanging inside, pristine and untouched. Everything was so perfectly unchanged that my room felt more like a frozen moment in time, instead an actual place, and I felt afraid to touch anything or move around much.

But in the corner I could see the bloody sweaty clothes I had wearily shed the night before, and when I looked in the mirror over the table it wasn't sixteen year old Cassandra de Rolo who looked back at me. She had been as slim and slender as a frail willow, with a lively face, gleeful blue eyes, a royal blue gown, and tiny white flowers threaded through her brunette hair. I looked at her in my mind's eye, this merry slip of a girl, frozen in time, and I couldn't find any part of her in my own heart. Sixteen year old Cassandra had been young and fresh, eighteen year old Cassandra was taller and older, she was hardened and more experienced. In a way I was sad, but sixteen year old Cassandra had died in the snow years ago, and nothing would bring her back.

I was almost afraid to touch any of my old clothes, but when I thought of putting on the soiled clothes from the night before I shrank back from the idea, so I reluctantly pulled out one of my old gowns and shook the dust off. It felt strange and other worldly to be dawning one of my old dresses. I had grown a little in the two years I had been living with Father Rynoll and Ivan, so that my dress no longer reached all the way down to the floor but came just an inch short, and I had to hold my breath before I could do some of the buttons. Once the dress was on the resemblance between me and the old Cassandra I used to be became much more striking, and it felt like looking at a ghost in the mirror. I was slightly taller than her, and my face was older, but unlike her I had two streaks of white hair beginning at my temples. While living at the Zenith I had never looked at my reflection much, except in windows, because Father Rynoll didn't keep a mirror, either for religious reasons or simply because he didn't need one. This was the first really clear reflection of myself I had seen in years, and I couldn't help but stare at myself for a minute.

At last I turned away from the mirror, gathered up my old clothes from the corner I had thrown them into, and spread them over my bed, looking them over carefully. The pants were still decent, although the knees were dirty, my sword was still in tact, but the shirt and leather armor were both ruined, for both had a long slit across the chest area where Silas's sword had slashed across my chest the night before.

I had a vague memory of the event, but the whole night was a little fuzzy, a little blurred, like the colors of a smeared painting, and it was difficult to remember exactly what had happened. I could vaguely remember the battle, a faint impression of the anger that had consumed me, Lady Briarwood's voice, her hand on my arm, sending a burst of regenerative energy through my body, and I could just barely recall the crushing grief I had felt as I collapsed into bed, although I couldn't remember who or what I had been grieving for...

The only thing I remembered clearly was Lord Briarwood's face, his eyes capturing my gaze, holding me captive, and the rush of elation I had felt. As I thought about it, his face seemed to become clearer and more sharply defined, the vague recollections of last night blurring in comparison. A burst of affection overwhelmed and blotted out the haze of sorrow that had been slowly creeping over my mind, and I longed to see him. Tossing the leather armor aside, I went to the door of my room, and peeked out into the hallway.

It was completely empty, and I hesitantly stepped into the passage. The silence of the castle around me was unsettling, it contrasted so strongly with the memories of my childhood, and I hardly dared to move, lest I would somehow disturb the complete silence that almost seemed to fill the air like a living thing. Everything around me was so familiar, and at the same time so shockingly different, and it didn't take me long to get caught up in exploring.

The castle was like an abandoned graveyard, an empty ghost town, or the face of a dear childhood friend that you haven't seen for years. My sibling's rooms were all as untouched as mine, and I quietly walked through them, looking at all the familiar objects. Vesper's was achingly tidy, and I could just imagine the horror she would feel at finding it so dusty, Julius's was also very clean, although from the look of the desk, his paper's had also been riffled through like Father's. Whitney's was a complete disaster, books and papers everywhere, her closet empty with all her clothes spread across the floor instead. She hated it when her room was tidy, and she had always been fighting about it with Vesper. Luwig and Oliver's rooms were both untouched, but when I went into Oliver's, I found his pet frog dead and abandoned in its cage. There had been no one to feed it. All of these rooms had been such a mirror image of each of my siblings, every detail so extraordinarily like them, that by the time I came to Percy's room I was already aching. I had put off his room until last, and when I reached the door I stopped, afraid to go in. At last I pulled in a resolute breath, and pushed into the room.

Of all my older brother's rooms, this one was the most characteristic, and I stood frozen in the doorway, trying to take it all in. It was an absolute mess, papers scattered across the floor, charts, graphs, books on engineering and mathematics, half completed then abandoned inventions, bits of machinery, scrap metal, and on the corner of the desk was a half eaten biscuit that had long molded over. I could almost see Percy: bent over the desk, covered in grease, hair disheveled, saying "go away Cas I'm busy..."

Strangely enough I didn't feel like shedding tears as I hesitantly moved into his room. It almost felt too sad for that, as if my emotion couldn't be expressed through tears, and my eyes were completely dry as I looked around me. There was so much potential in what I saw, so much unrecognized ambition. I would never have bothered to read, or even begin to understand, half the books that lay scattered on the floor. Stacks of papers, covered in complex algebra theories, littered the floor, disgusting me with their complication. How could all these gifts have gone unnoticed for so long?

And there was the other question, the deeper curiousity, the burning need: Where was he? Where was he? Where was he? He'd run, he'd left me, but that could have only hidden his death from me. Hunted and exauhsted, my brother could have been cornered, trapped, and then slaughtered. And how was I to know? Two years. Two years of waiting, and he'd never come back for me. I'd long given up hoping anymore, one more innocent dream to bleed out in the snow.

_At least he's not still living through this nightmare. He's probably drinking fancy wine, and enjoying the company of some beneficent angels in the afterlife, while I'm still down here living through the shit. Best wishes brother, I hope you're enjoying yourself._

Shaking myself out of my bitter thoughts, I picked my way carefully across the bedroom floor. It was such a mess, it took me a minute to pick my way to the desk. When I reached it, I found it was strewn with papers, many of which were covered in Percy's handwriting. One at the very back, partially hidden under a stack of books, had a sketch of what appeared to be an arrow on it, with notes in the margins explaining how it worked. It appeared to be some kind of explosive arrow for a crossbow, with a simple enchantment on the tip to give it an affect similar to a fireball, and a small pouch full of steel shrapnel. I had always known that Percy was interested in machines, he had come up with a new contraption on average once a week, but they were always flimsy things that never worked, and I had always found his inventions more amusing than impressive. This was the first creation of his that actually impressed me, and as I looked over the marginal notes I was shocked to find how much sense it made...Something like this might actually work. That thought scorched me, and my throat closed as I stood frozen. Damn him, I didn't care what he'd done to me. I just wanted him back.

_Percy, you fucking fool, please don't be dead._

Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and somehow I knew I wasn't alone anymore. Hiding the arrow sketch behind my back, I whirled to face the door, feeling a cold lump of guilt in my stomach. I probably wasn't supposed to be in here.

"Anna?!" I exclaimed surprised, for there in the doorway was Anna Ripley, the woman Professor Anders had allowed into the castle on the night of the attack. The woman that had tortured Percy...I felt my surprise give way to dislike, and frowned, my hand convulsively squeezing the paper behind my back.

"And who were you again?" Ripley said coolly, looking me over, with a faint look of recognition as if she knew that we had met, but couldn't remember where or how.

"Cassandra."

"Oh...right..." Anna said with the same coolness, but now there was a hint of disdain in it. "Silas's new pet, I remember you..." Moving so suddenly it startled me, she crossed the room and seized me under the chin, tilting my face up. "I thought you had died."

For a moment we stood still, eyes locked, and as I stared defiantly up into her face, I felt a hint of anger. A surge of warmth, like something aggressive trying to push it's way into control of my fingers, and for a split second my palms itched to reach out and wrap around her throat. It was a distressing feeling. Looking down at me, Anna could sense my momentary aggression, and she released my chin, her face hardening.

"You'd better go downstairs. Anders was looking for you, Delilah want's him to keep an eye on you, and with good reason."

Clearly this was a hint for me to leave the room, and I slowly complied, still feeling dazed by that momentary flash of anger. In the doorway I turned back, feeling an apology and insult both fighting to get out of my mouth, and Anna frowned. She was searching through the papers on the desk, but stopped the moment I turned back.

"Get out." She said sharply, no longer bothering with veiled hints. Seeing that there was nothing left for me to do but obey, I left the room, wondering what on earth Anna Ripley could be looking for among my brother's things.

***

Over the next few weeks life gradually slipped back into it's old routine, and sometimes I could almost imagine that I had never left the castle, that the two years I had lived at the temple had all been nothing more than a dream. A vision of life as a peasant, and nothing more. If it weren't for the faint hints I found here and there, I could almost have believed that Lord and Lady Briarwood had always owned the castle. But somehow the memory of passed things, of people long dead and gone, couldn't be completely wiped away. As if their presence had long ago sunk into the very walls of the castle, and now the whitestone was completely soaked in it.

Like the rooms of my brothers and sisters, most of the castle seemed to be frozen in time, completely untouched. It was only in much used rooms like the dining room, sitting room, kitchen, foyer, and Father's study that there was any sign of change. Rooms like these were the only ones that looked lived in, and occasionally a servant could be seen entering or exiting a doorway, bringing firewood, or lightning lamps in the evening. This was a rare occurrence, for the servants seemed to be intent on showing themselves as little as possible, though whether by the Briarwood's orders or not I didn't know. 

Other than the servants the only people living at the castle were the Briarwoods, Anna Ripley, Professor Anders, and myself. Most of the castle was completely empty, and the professor and I were the only ones that spent a large part of our time in these public rooms, for Ripley and the Briarwoods spent most of their time in the Undercroft, a series of chambers buried deep under the castle. What they were doing down there I didn't know, and I was forbidden to go down there. What ever it was, it was something foul, for in the two years of my absence they had dug giant vents in the garden that now belched green smoke out in clouds that covered the ground in a thick sheet.

This garden was the only part of the castle that was completely changed almost beyond recognition. Mother had loved the garden, and had spent a large part of every day there, tending to the plants and hedges; or consulting with the head gardener, a man she had hand picked from among the people of Whitestone, who knew more about plants and their needs than I ever thought any man could know. Under their tender care it had been a verdant paradise, full of ancient trees, sloping lawns, beds of flowers, and shaded nooks. Mother had spent so much time in the garden, she almost lived in it, and it was on the back terrace that she had instructed me in fencing all those ages ago. Since the attack the garden had completely died and everything had turned sickly gray, as if the very color had been sucked out of it. The trees Mother had loved so much were dead, the flowers were wilted, the grass withered, and the sunny memories of my childhood here blotted and ruined. As if the color had been sucked out of my childhood too.

This barren desolation was now peopled by the walking corpses of the castle's long dead servants and guards. Shambling undead creatures that kept a ceaseless patrol over the garden. Many of them were still wearing what ever clothes or armor they had been wearing when they died, and the sight of them, not even allowed the dignity of death, always filled me with indignation. I hated looking at the garden now, I hated looking at these terrible creatures, animated by some unholy spark of life, and it was at these times that my old hatred had the most control.

Most of my time was spent either in my room, or with Professor Anders, for Lady Briarwood had told him to keep an eye on me. At first he did keep a very tight leash on me, but as time went on, and I never tried to sneak off, slowly his vigilance relaxed slightly. After a while he was content to let me stay in my room, and put a simple alarm spell on my bedroom door that would alert him if I tried to get out. But it didn't take me long to find a way around it. My father's study was full of useful books, one of which was an old spell tome that no one had read for an age, and in the very back of the book was a simple counter charm that would work against minor enchantments and spells. This counter charm proved to be just the thing for disabling the enchantment on my door, and before long I had free reign over the castle.

There was something about pushing the line between obedience and open defiance as far as I could, something refreshing about it, and during these times of mild disobedience I felt freed for some reason. In the same way that a prisoner would feel if he was able to thrust his hand through the barred window of his cell out into the open air. It wasn't true freedom, but for a brief time it had the appearance and sensation of it. Which was strange, because I wasn't a prisoner, no one made me stay at the castle against my will, but I felt restricted all the same...


	6. Unsettling Hints

I had now been living at Castle Whitestone for five months. I had explored every single nook and cranny, peered into every corner, poked through Anna's room, the abandoned servant's rooms, Professor Ander's bedchamber, the kitchens, and every other empty room in the castle. I was itching for a new place to poke around.

Five months I had been here, and yet in all that time I hadn't seen much of Silas, or Anna Ripley. Delilah and Ripley both appeared at the breakfast table every morning, but Silas never ate in the morning. In fact I never saw him in the morning at all, and only rarely saw him about the castle during the day. He seemed to spend most of the day sleeping. A strange habit considering the rituals of his wife, who was always awake during the day, yet never seemed the slightest bit surprised that Silas's sleeping pattern was so different from hers. She spent most of her day in one of the best drawing rooms, reading, doing needle work, or occasionally doing nothing at all.

But most of her time by far was occupied in playing the grand piano. She seemed to have an endless enjoyment of its sound, and spent several hours a day playing. Sometimes songs, sometimes an endless stream of short ditties, sometimes a single note played over and over again. Any time she played she seemed completely lost in the sound, an abstracted smile hanging about the corners of her mouth. But when ever she lost herself in that one monotonous note, endlessly pressed, I thought her eyes seemed sad. This was the only time I could ever see any trace of unhappiness in her. 

Ripley always spent most of the morning locked up in her room here at the castle, working on some private project of her own that seemed to interest her a good deal. More than once I saw her revisit Percy's room again, searching for something important to her, though she never seemed to find it. What ever her secret project was, it was explosive, for more than once I heard combustion sounds in her room, or she would set off mini detonations in the garden. In the early afternoon she would head down towards the cellar, passing the racks of dusty wine bottles, and descend down the long stairs into the de Rolo Mausoleum. What on earth she could possibly be doing there I didn't know, for I was never stupid enough to follow her down there.

All the Briarwood's attention seemed to be wrapped up in this vault however, for every evening when Lord Briarwood woke up, the two of them would go down there and not come back for several hours. There was nothing down there I knew, only the grand stillness and the whitestone tombs of my ancestors. But what ever they were doing, it involved tunneling, for the workers (many of whom were long dead, like the shambling creatures in the garden) brought up giant sacks of earth that they piled out on the dead grass. I also suspected that it had something to do with the vents in the garden that constantly belched green smoke.

All this was very intriguing, and I was itching for more loopholes to take advantage of. It had never been explicitly stated that I was not to go down there, just like they had never said that I couldn't explore the castle, though it was heavily implied. This unstated rule was just begging to be stretched, and finally, after resisting as long as I could, I gave in.

After several days of careful planning I determined that the best time to go explore would be in the early evening, during the short window immediately after Silas and Delilah went down, but before the workmen started bringing up their sacks of earth. This was the only time when I could be reasonably confident of the tunnels being unoccupied. All during the afternoon there was a constant stream of workmen carrying down large blocks of whitestone for some unknown purpose, and it was at this time that the vents poured green vapor into the garden. Something certainly was active down there at that time, which meant it was too dangerous for me. But once I had chosen a propitious moment, all I had to do was pick a day, and wait for that propitious moment to come.

It was a difficult wait. I was torn by anticipation all morning, every second seemed to drag by with agonizing slowness, and every time my eyes met Delilah's across the breakfast table I felt a twinge of guilty knowledge. But she seemed occupied, and never noticed.

"Anders." Delilah called across the table just as Anders was finishing his meal and preparing to rise. "I would like to speak to you." 

The Professor frowned and looked at Ripley and I hesitantly.

"I'll take that as my cue to quit the table..." Anna said deliberately, rising from her seat, wiping her lips on her napkin, and setting it next to her plate. "I'll just find myself some pressing business to attend to, and make myself scarce, shall I?"

"If you would be so kind." Delilah said, smiling acidly, and Ripley left the room. The chilling smile slid from Lady Briarwood's face as soon as Anna was gone, and she turned her eyes on me, looking pointedly at the door. It was not difficult to catch her meaning and I hastily stood up, also setting my napkin on the table, leaving the room. Anders silently followed me to the door, and shut it behind me, leaving me alone in the foyer with Ripley. For a moment I hesitated, knowing that the Professor would want me to go to my room, but nagging curiosity picked at me. What are they talking about that's so important?

"Thinking of listening in?" Anna said arching one eyebrow disdainfully.

"No." I said, though my lie fell flat, and we both knew it.

"Well I don't give a damn." She said carelessly, turning on her heel and pacing away towards the stairs, speaking over her shoulder to me. "By all means listen if you like, I couldn't care less." 

Completely caught off guard by her flippancy, I watched her go, whistling as she walked away. I kept waiting for her to turn around. But she never turned, and after watching her for a moment it suddenly dawned on me that she really, truly, didn't give a damn what I did. Turning my back on her, I crept back to the door of the dining room, snugging my ear up against the keyhole. 

"-citing news my friend." Lady Briarwood's voice said, blooming into focus as I put my ear to the door. She sounded excited, more than that, enthusiastic. I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth, I was glad that she was so happy, but even as I smiled I felt a twinge of dread that I couldn't understand. She was happy, and by extension I should be too, so why wasn't I? 

"We have made wonderful progress! Ripley has finally perfected the acidic formula, the mass production of Residuum is now underway, and not a moment too soon."

"I know all this." The Professor said. "I might as well have comfortably finished my meal if this was all you have to say." 

"We found it Anders."   
"Are you certain?" His voice tense with sudden urgency.

"Yes, early this morning. The Ziggurat itself. If my calculations are correct than it's more or less where He said it would be: right under the Suntree, made of whitestone like He predicted. All that is left now is to completely dig it out and begin creating Residuum for the rebuilding process."

"This is excellent news. The Whispered One will certainly be pleased."

"I'm just about to wake Silas and then we'll all-"

At that point I pulled away, knowing that I had to get out of here, it wasn't difficult to guess what it was they were going to do. And I couldn't be caught with my ear to the door. My mind was reeling with the new information. In a few minutes I had learned more about the Briarwoods and their goals than I had in five months. They were looking for something, something they were trying to rebuild, and they weren't doing it on their own...They were being guided. By the Whispered One...

Everything I had just overheard was important, and they would never give me another chance to listen like this if they found out that I had. Abandoning the keyhole I had been listening at, I hastily crossed the hall and began to ascend the stairs. It was a risk, if they came out of the dinning room before I was expecting them to, I would be completely exposed. But if Anders went to check that I was in my room (which, knowing him, was quite possible) I wouldn't be there unless I could get upstairs before he did.

Still, despite the necessity it was a harrowing experience: being so out in the open and obviously out of place. My heart was in my throat the whole time, my nerves tensed to the breaking point, with the sensation of unfriendly eyes sending chills down my back, even if I knew they weren't there. I kept expecting Delilah and the Professor to come into the hall and catch me, and once, about half way up the stairs, I was absolutely certain that I could hear them opening the door behind me. But they never did. My gamble paid off, and I made it safely upstairs.

As soon as I was out of eyesight of the foyer I broke into a dead sprint, pelting down the long hallway as fast as I could go, and skidded to a stop in front of my door. I was out of breath physically, but felt strangely refreshed emotionally. It had been ages since I dared to run. I had always felt deep inside that (like the exploring) running was against the rules, or at least not looked upon kindly by the Briarwoods, and I hadn't dared to do it. I felt liberated by it somehow, more like myself, more lively, more like the old me. Back when my family had been alive I had run constantly, because I liked it, but also because I was late. For everything.

Taking a moment to collect myself and get my breath back, I pushed into my room and closed the door behind me, still breathing hard. I didn't have much time to get myself under control, Anders would be here soon to check on me and activate the alarm spell on my door. I had to look as if I had been sitting here for a few minutes, not as if I had only just come in.

Hastily I smoothed my hair, composing myself and sitting down in front of my dressing table, pulling out a book. Doing my best to look as if I had been here all along I leaned my head on my arm, instantly smothering it in thick waves of hair, and did my best to keep my eyes on the book. Try as I might however, I could not give my full attention to the words on the page before me, and I found my attention kept straying to the hallway outside my door, trying to make out the least sound. In my excitement, and the racing of my thoughts, the time seemed greatly lengthened, each second encompassing the space of long minutes. But in spite of this, it was less than a minute before Professor Anders appeared at my door.

Tone of voice gave no idea of facial expression, and through the keyhole I had been unable to tell how Anders reacted to Lady Briarwood's news, beyond what I could hear. Seeing his face I could tell that he was excited, more flushed and hurried than I had ever seen him in fact. Which, seeing as I had known him my entire life, was strange.

"Good," He said absently. "I thought I'd find you here."

"Yes sir." I said, trying to keep all guilty knowledge from my face and speak quite naturally.

Something about me seemed to catch him the wrong way, perhaps in my face, or the sound of my voice, or perhaps I was still slightly out of breath. What ever the reason his face became suddenly suspicious. In two strides he crossed the room, seizing me roughly by the chin, his fingers digging savagely into the soft flesh of my cheek, hand partly muzzling my mouth. I felt my heart beat kick up a notch, and for a moment the animalistic desire to bite his hand surged in my chest.

The Professor suddenly released my chin and sent a stinging slap across my cheek. Not a weak, hesitant, afraid-of-hitting-a-woman kind of slap. But a real, forceful slap, with the back of his hand across my face. I recoiled instinctively, crumpling into a little ball, bringing my hand up to my face. I tasted blood in my mouth. Taking a thick handful of my hair, he dragged my head up so that I had to look into his face. The stinging pain across my cheek brought hot involuntary tears, and I hated the fact that they were there, but try as I might, I couldn't stop them from coming. At that moment I loathed him, and crying in front of him was more humiliating than I'd ever thought anything could be.

"Well?" He said harshly, giving my head an impatient shake. "Do you understand?"

"Yes sir..."

Apparently satisfied, the Professor released me, and without deigning to look at me again, went to the door. Trying to keep up some shred of dignity, I straitened my back, holding up my chin and hastily brushing the tears from my face.

"I'll come to let you out for supper." He said pulling the door behind him.

Listening carefully I could hear him whispering outside my door, activating the enchantment that kept me locked in. After waiting a moment in careful silence I went to the door, putting my ear up to the lock, trying to make out any sound I could. For a few moments I could hear his softly rustling footsteps as he walked off down the hallway, then they faded out of the range of my hearing. Blowing out a sigh I pulled my ear away from the door and turned around, sliding down into a sitting position with its sturdy surface against my back.

Ruefully I brushed my fingers over the tender area of freshly slapped face. It couldn't be helped, but I felt too shaken to leave the room immediately. I sat still against the door, gently massaging my cheek, trying to get my emotions back under control. I couldn't understand why I felt so angry, it was such a foreign, agressive, feeling.

At last I pulled myself to my feet and went back to my dressing table. Searching through the drawers was a messy process as they were full of everything, from used paper, to sealing wax, to a stray handkerchief. With a torn portrait of my family, scraps of my brother's and sister's handwriting, and some of Percy's sketches rolled up in a bundle at the very back. But amazingly, among all the crumpled balls of used paper, there was not one blank piece to be found.

Finally I came back to the surface, with a wrinkled scrap of paper clutched in one hand, and my last unbroken quill pen in the other. Bending over the paper, I began to write painstakingly, poking my tongue out the corner of my mouth. At first I had been rather proud of this charm, (the only magic I could do) and had been almost artistic in my rendition of the words, but the production of these scraps of paper had long ago become routine. Writing as quickly as I could, without ruining the spell, I copied the words that I had long ago memorized. At last with a final swirl I completed the last spell sigil, and began waving the paper around, waiting for the ink to completely dry.

As usual my fate of never having anything I needed in its proper place, when I needed it, attended me, and it was only after another lengthy search of the table top that I came up with the final implements I wanted. When ever the Briarwoods went down into the family crypt they always carried torches with them, and I guessed that I would need to bring my own light source with me. Hidden under a pile of papers at the back of the table I found what I was looking for: a fist sized chunk of red glow stone, bound with copper.

My mother had given it to me ages ago for me to read in bed with. At first I had used a candle, but after nearly lighting my bed on fire she had decided to give me something a little less flammable, and now I couldn't be more grateful. The glow stone was perfect for exploring dark places when you didn't want others to see you. It had a soft red glow to it that would give you enough light without being too conspicuous, but unlike fire it could be hidden beneath a skirt if you needed to. Tucking the glow stone into my pocket (I had pockets hidden underneath all my skirts) I grabbed a long hat pin from the mess of papers.   
Spearing the scrap of paper I had made on the end of the pin, I went to my bedroom door, and drove the point of the pin into the wood. Having done this, I stepped back from the door, and began to repeat the enchantment under my breath for probably the thousandth time. I hardly had to glance at the words on the paper as I repeated them, I had memorized them and perfected the phrasing long ago.

At last I spoke the final words and the sigils on the paper flashed. For a moment they glowed dull red, that brightened to a vivid orange, and at last to a white hot flame that consumed the paper, and left the sigils still glowing white hot in the empty air. Hastily I opened the door, tugging out the hat pin as I did, and stepped out into the passage, closing the door behind me. I was free and in the wind. Nobody, not Anders, not Ripley, not even the Briarwoods, knew where I was now. 

The passage outside was completely empty, and after glancing up and down the long hallway I set off, moving as quietly as I could manage. Which was actually pretty quiet, I had become much more stealthy in the five months of snooping and spying that I had spent here. Nobody molested me as I made my silent way downstairs. I knew better than to use the grand staircase at the front of the castle. The small narrow servant's stairs that I had used in my escape years ago would serve my purpose much better. The passages surrounding my bedroom were completely empty, and even though I kept my ears and eyes alert nothing caught my attention. At last I turned into the long hallway that ran along the back of the castle and began moving stealthily along it, keeping low to the ground. 

The first door I came to opened into Professor Anders' study, and I stopped at the door, listening carefully. I heard nothing however, and I screwed up my courage enough to push the double doors open slightly, peering inside. The room was completely empty and the fire was out, something I took as a good sign. Even so, my skin prickled uncomfortably as I crept past the door.

Finally I reached the servants stairs, and I padded down them, moving as softly as I could manage. Coming to the bottom I glanced through the door, just as I had all those years ago, evaluating my surroundings. Much had changed since that dreadful night. The smeared blood had all been wiped away long ago, the aching emptiness and silence was now filled with hurried activity, the few servants all hard at work. Down the passage to the left I could see one of the Briarwood's undead abominations, not doing anything in particular, just standing with its back to me obviously guarding the hallway, swaying back and forth with its head lolling side to side in a very creepy way.

Cursing my luck I drew my head back into the darkness of the stairwell, trying to think of a way out of this. I knew from experience that you couldn't let those things see you. What shred of human intelligence was left within those poor creatures could pick out an imposter, and even though they were dead they still moved with frightening speed, there was no way I could escape it if it did see me. Searching my pockets for anything useful I came up with nothing but a couple of rusted copper pennies, not much, but they might do for a distraction. And after all, distraction was something I was good at...

Spitting on one of the pennies for good luck, I snaked my hand around the edge of the door and flicked the penny off down the hallway to the right. Either I was an even better shot than I used to be, or else something had guided my hand. What ever the reason, my toss could not have been more perfect, and as I listened I could hear the penny strike the flagged stone floor with a sharp ping, then go skipping down the steps to the subterranean dungeon at the very end of the passage. I didn't dare peek out to see what effect my distraction had taken, but I heard the zombie thing let out a snarl, then begin shuffling in the direction of the penny, a tortured moan gargling in the back of its throat.

Keeping very still, I watched it stagger past the door to the stairs, headed for the dungeon in the distance. Holding my breath I slipped out behind it, moving with infinite care as I backed away from it. The creature didn't hear me, and I watched as it continued its stupid pursuit of the strange noise that had disturbed it. I headed in the opposite direction, moving towards the end of the hallway. The long passage ended in a door, and reaching it I glanced over my shoulder as I eased it open. The dead thing had gotten to the stairs that led down to the dungeon, and was standing at the top step looking down, seeming to have finally lost interest and now be standing stupidly, just as it had been before I disturbed it. Then I slipped through the door and closed it behind me.

Beyond the door was another hallway, running at right angles to the one I had just left, but it was much wider and grander. Ancient tapestries, covered in a layer of dust centuries in the making, hung on the wall, displaying scenes from popular legend in faded colors: Pelor planting the Suntree's seed, the platinum dragon Bahamut locked in combat with his sister Tiamat, the moment of the world's creation when all the elemental planes collided and the material plane was born. The torch sconces on the walls were much more ornamental too, their twisted iron columns covered in aged scrolling. A long faded blue carpet, bordered with gold embroidered stripes that twisted into complicated knots at the corners, ran down the center of the hallway.

Stepping carefully I turned left, moving like a silent shadow along the edge of the wall, avoiding the faint and flickering torchlight as best as I could. Nobody halted my progress, and when I stopped and listened I could hear no sound anywhere nearby. As far as I could tell, this wing of the castle was completely empty. At last I came to the end of the corridor, coming to a pair of thick iron bound oaken doors that I knew opened into the garden. I halted and listened to the silence one last time, but I still could catch no sound, and I gently tugged the doors open. White sunlight spilled through the gap, illuminating the shadowed hallway, and temporarily blinding me. Then I recovered my eyesight, slipping through the gap into the open air, and tugging the heavy door closed behind me.

Broad stone steps, flanked by weathered stone balustrades, descended down into the garden. Finely crumbled white gravel sprang away into the grass, cutting the once smooth green lawns into neat islands, bordered by wandering paths. Gaunt trees and hedges stood in the pale sunlight, surrounded by gray withered grass, blackened in places by the various explosions that Ripley had set off. Directly in front of the castle, dominating the center of the garden, was a wide marble fountain, now dry as an old bone. Horribly exposed in the sunlight I could pick out the shapes of long dead servants and castle guards, endlessly patrolling the garden paths, and castle ramparts.

Unwilling to let those ruined creatures see me, I didn't follow the garden path, instead vaulting over the stone balustrade and dropping down into the withered garden bed that bordered the castle wall. A thick dark green hedge used to grow luxuriantly against the castle wall, and in my younger days I used to hide behind it, crawling up and down in the green leafy tunnel between the hedge and the wall, headless of the soft rich dirt that stained my skirts and hands. Though it was now dead and shriveled, the brittle gray branches still afforded good cover, and I dropped down behind it, creeping along the edge of the castle wall. Making my way back left, along the cramped grubby path, I slowly worked my way back towards my true goal. In about a hundred feet I came to a place in the hedge where the thick branches were cut and interrupted by a pair of thick wooden doors set into the ground. These were the outer doors into the cellar, where the workmen used to haul down giant blocks of clear ice to keep the cellars cold during the summer months.

As I had expected the cellar doors were locked as usual, but the lock was old, and I had long ago learned how to manipulate the simple mechanism. Like most of the aged locks that guarded this castle's secure places, this lock was hardly what you could call 'secure' anymore, and it only took a little fiddling to open it. The catch on the lock hardly worked anymore, and after tugging for a moment I found that if you pulled on it just right it would open, without needing a key. I grinned as the lock sprang free, and the rusted chain around the handles of the cellar doors fell away useless. There were some things that only a lifetime's experience could teach you about this castle.

Working my fingers under the edge of the door, I stealthily lifted it until I had just enough of a gap to squeeze down underneath, letting the wooden door drop back closed behind me. Chinks of pale sunlight filtered down through gaps in the wooden doors, revealing wide deep stone steps that dropped down into the darkness and chill of the cellar. Giving my eyes a moment to adjust to the near darkness, I crept down the stairs, keeping snugged up against one wall. The pungent smell of thick dust, aged wood, and slightly mildewed air filled my nose. In the gray semi light from the doors above me, I could just make out dusty cobweb covered wine racks, giant barrels set up on huge wooden racks against the further wall, and in the darkest corner of the cellar I could just barely see a shadowed stairwell where more steps dropped down into the de Rolo Mausoleum.

Pausing again to listen cautiously, I was met with only silence, and I tugged out my chunk of glow stone. Up in my room it had only looked like a red stone with a brighter core burning deep under the surface, in the same way that you couldn't see fire in sunlight. But now, in the near perfect darkness, I could see that the stone was giving off a faint radius of light that stained nearby objects a deep red. Holding the stone out in front of me I advanced down the stairs, pausing briefly to glance over the racks of old wine bottles, and running a finger over one bottle that left a clear imprint in the dust. 

Slinking among the dusty racks, my body tingling and feeling painfully alert, I crossed the cellar and began creeping down the stairs to the family crypt. It was a long way down. The stairs spiraled round and round dizzyingly, boring straight down into the hard earth and stone that the castle was built on. As I continued down, leaving the gray half light that filtered through the cellar's outer doors, the chunk of glowing rock in my hand seemed to glow brighter, my eyes adjusting to it more and more as I was forced to rely on it completely.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the red light of my glowing rock cascaded outward, revealing the ancient and long untouched chambers of my ancestors tombs. It was an imposing place, built entirely out of whitestone like the castle far above, with smooth walls of expert masonry. Several wide doorways flanked by fluted columns opened into the individual tombs: small burial chambers, each with a stone casket dominating the center of the room, and shelves carved into the walls on which trinkets and burial offerings rested. Over the whole place a pall of heavy silence rested, and dignity seemed to ooze from the walls, sinking into my very bones and completely extinguishing my soul's usual fervor. The tangible majesty of the room affected me strongly.

I felt as out of place as a rabbit in a wolf's den as I hesitantly moved into the room, trying to breathe without breathing. As far as I could see the crypt was completely unchanged. Admittedly, the last time I had been down here was when we were burying my grandfather and I had only been six at the time, but still, everything was just the same. I could see no reason why the Briarwoods would spend all their time down here.

But when I reached the back of the crypt the mystery suddenly became much clearer: the reason I could find no source of activity was because I still had deeper to go. The path didn't end here. At the back of the crypt part of the smooth chiseled stone had been removed, and the packed earth behind it hauled away, leaving in it's wake a tunnel that dropped still further into the earth's roots. Small rocks and earth, ground into powder by the constant passing of booted feet, dusted the ground in front of this dark opening, and I could see that this tunnel was heavily trafficked. It seemed that what ever had called the Briarwood's attention at such an early hour of the day had also temporarily stopped the constant influx of workers carrying down blocks of whitestone. I could not have chosen a better moment to investigate.

It wouldn't be long before the stream of workers would resume, that I knew. I had to hurry. Gathering myself I plunged down into the tunnel, holding the glow stone out in front of me and trying to step as quietly as possible, alert to the slightest sound. The tunnel plunged gently downward, sinking farther down into the ground and heading (as best as I could tell) due north. But before I had gone very far I came to a new dilemma: a fork in the path. To the right the path seemed to head more or less in the same direction that it had been going, curving slightly to the east, and it no longer descended. The tunnel on the left also appeared to level off, but turned back on itself heading south, back towards the castle and city which were far above by this time. I could see no indication as to which was the best path to take.

As I stood, wracked by indecision, I slowly became aware of a strange smell that filled the tunnel around me. A strong acidic scent that burned the inside of my nose slightly. At first there seemed to be no source, but as I became more aware of it, the scent seemed to get stronger down the passage to the right, and after a few more moments I was sure that the smell's origin lay in that direction. Burning with curiosity I set off down the tunnel, moving along close to the wall, and keeping my glow stone close to my skirt, ready to blanket the light at a moment's notice.

This path was much shorter than any I had followed so far, and I had gone no more than thirty feet before the passage widened out before me, vanishing into blackness at the edge of my glow stone's radius. The acidic smell grew noticeably stronger as I moved forward, biting sharply at the inside of my nose, the uncomfortable tingling giving me the urge to sneeze. Hugging the wall I hesitantly moved up to the doorway, thrusting my chunk of glow stone out before me into the blackness. Red light filtered into the room, revealing walls of packed earth, several tables pushed off in the shadows, and just beyond the edge of my glow stone's strong light, what looked like several pools set down into the floor. I could hear no breath but my own, and even though my light didn't reach all the way to the far end of the room I was almost certain that there was no one hiding in the shadows, some strange sixth sense told me that I was alone. I felt the tension drain out of my shoulders, and I advanced into the room, no longer afraid of discovery. 

Getting a better look at the nearest pool in the room I could see that it wasn't water, or even a liquid exactly. It had properties of a liquid, but it was thicker, more like a fine silky mud in its texture. Because of my glow stone's red hue it was difficult to tell what color the sludge was, but it seemed to be a dull greenish gray. As soon as I came near it the toxic smell grew much more intense, and kneeling down at the edge of the pool made my eyes water. Crouching at the edge I could see that the pool was not, as I had first thought, sunk down into the bare earth. It was lined with some strange metal that reminded me of copper, or bronze, but didn't seemed to be clearly made of either one or the other.

Something told me not to touch the stuff with my bare hands, and instead I took a small white pebble, lying nearby on the ground, and hesitantly dipped it into the strange substance. Instantly there was a loud hissing sound, and a gout of white steam. Such a violent reaction startled me, and I immediately dropped the rock, recoiling from the pool instinctively. The pebble disappeared beneath the surface, and large sickly bubbles rose up, each one bursting the surface with a poisonous smell. Only a few moments later the bubbling stopped and something else broke the surface: a shard of dark polished stone.   
I could find nothing on the ground around me with which to retrieve the stone, and I was loath to touch the liquid with my bare hands.

Rising I went to the nearby tables, searching for something to use as a tool. They were heavily laden with what appeared to be alchemical apparatus, as well as other strange devices who's uses were completely unknown to me. Hundreds of bottles, some empty, others full, littered the table's surface, and I could see that most of the full bottles contained what looked like more of that strange greenish gray ooze. Set conspicuously on a tray I found a set of strange tools that all appeared to be made of the mysterious bronzy copper material. Among them was a pair of tongs and I took them hoping that, since the pool seemed to be made of the same material, it would be resistant to the sludge's violent properties. Going back to the edge of the pit I fished out the dark rock. 

Now that I could see it up close I realized that it wasn't a rock, it was glass. Dark green lumpy glass. I turned it over in my hand, looking for some kind of significance, trying to understand its use, but I could see nothing to indicate its purpose. It looked like nothing more than a shard of twisted glass.

Searching the ground for another pebble like the one I had used before, I found another slightly larger rock. Gripping it with the tongs instead of my hands, I held the rock down into the strange substance. Now that I knew what would happen when I touched the stuff I was no longer startled by the reaction, and resolutely held the rock steady, listening to the furious hissing indifferently. Finally I pulled back, lifting the rock and looking at it.

Part of the rock had melted off, leaving only a small chunk intact, still steaming angrily. Looking closely I could see that minuscule beads of soupy liquid still clung to the pebble's surface, relentlessly eating away at it, and beads of dark green residue dripped on the ground as the process continued. Another shard of dark green glass had bobbed to the surface of the pool, and I realized that the dark green sludge that dripped off the rock (apparently some kind of material left over from the melting process) was also hardening into beads of glass. What kind of noxious acid would be strong enough to melt the whitestone that this castle was made of? And not only that, but also take the melted substance and turn it into a different structure of material. I would have thought such a thing was impossible.

Danger. My body went stiff, and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Cassandra get out of here. Throwing the tongs, pebble, and shard of glass in a corner, I hastily smothered the red light of my glow stone, plunging the room into darkness. Careful to keep my light hidden, I crawled across the floor towards the wall, crouching next to the door. I had taken too long experimenting with the acid. Rolling down the tunnels, getting closer by the moment, I could make out the sound of distant voices. Suddenly a clear musical laugh rang out above the muffled conversation, and I recognized it as the laugh of Delilah Briarwood. By this time light was beginning to filter into the room, not red light like my glow stone, but warm yellow light that flickered and danced. Torchlight.

I knew there was nowhere for me to go, the room I was in had no other exit, and retracing my steps meant walking right into the arms of Lord and Lady Briarwood. Here I had to stay, caught as neatly as a rabbit in a trap. All I could do was pray that they would pass me by, and take the passage on the left, the one that I hadn't explored. The light grew stronger, the voices closer, until at last I hardly dared to breathe. Another few moments, and they would catch me red handed.

"Well, altogether things seem to be going rather pleasantly at the moment." Silas's voice said, finally coming in range of my hearing, and I felt my heart give a leap at the sound. A strong desire to run to him, run to him and confess my disobedience, possessed me. Then I gave myself a shake, sternly bringing my emotions back under control, and I listened without moving.

"Indeed." Delilah's voice answered, sounding happier than I'd ever yet heard. "We could hardly be progressing faster if we tried. Everything is going exactly as it should."

"It is most gratifying..." Silas said, almost seeming to answer her as an after thought. "But are you sure you are ready for this my darling? He will require a great deal more from you in the coming days, are you sure you feel strong enough?"

"Does it matter?" Delilah said, and a hint of impatience crept into her voice for a moment. "Whether I feel strong enough or not, if He asks me to give my all, I must give it."

"I'm just concerned for you, my darling..." Silas said, his voice fading out of my hearing, and the yellow light that had accompanied them began to fade. After a few moments of tense waiting I was left in complete darkness, and though I listened closely I couldn't hear any other movements. Slowly I uncovered my light, the dull red glow filling the room, and crept back down the passage toward the intersection.

Every grain of common sense was urging me to go back, save the passage on the left for another day. But my unruly desires told me to follow after Silas. I was sure that something important, something vital, lay down the passage to the left. The violent attack on the castle, Anna torturing my brother, the Suntree's death, this tunnel, the pits of sludgy acid, the Briarwood's very presence here in this castle; everything was connected to what ever was down there. I didn't know when I'd get another chance to come down here, the tunnel's lack of workmen streaming in and out seemed to be a fairly rare thing. This might be the only opening I'd get for a long time.

Don't be foolhardy Cassandra, My common sense told me as I stood hesitating in the intersection, torn between the unexplored passage, and the tunnel back to the surface. But I'd already made it this far, I told myself encouragingly, looking down the tunnel to the left as it curved out of sight, beckoning me with promises of waiting mysteries. Gathering new courage, clutching my glow stone resolutely, I turned to go on. Plunging into the unknown, and hardly giving the way back a second glance.


	7. Secrets Must Be Kept

Following the curve of the tunnel I advanced forward, and coming around the corner found that the tunnel continued on out of sight. It seemed to continue straight, sloping gently as it went on, and some way ahead of me I could make out the flicker of the Briarwood's torches. Ducking back against the wall, I smothered my glowstone's light in my skirt, praying that they hadn't glimpsed it. I knew that the stone's light, though dim, would still be painfully visible in the pitch blackness of the tunnel. I would just have to go on without a light, and pray that there weren't any obstacles in my way which I would be unable to see in the darkness.

Though I had stopped being afraid of the dark years ago, walking in complete blackness was an uncomfortable experience. I had to admit to myself that it was still more than a little frightening. There was no way to see in front of me, and I was constantly afraid that I was about to run into something and hurt myself. At last I gave up trying to walk upright, and instead dropped to my knees, groping out in front of me with my hands. Because of this I moved slower than the distant torches, and as we continued on the Briarwoods slowly gained on me.

At first I kept expecting to meet some change, but the tunnel seemed to continue on forever, plunging gently downward with no sign of stopping. The endless unchanging monotony of the tunnel slowly lulled me into security, and I stopped being afraid of bumping into things. Thinking about the crushing weight of earth above me made me feel dizzy, and I tried in vain to calculate how far down we were. Without the sun it was difficult to tell time, and in spite of my best efforts to keep track, I soon lost all sense of how long I had been down here. All I knew was that I was underground, heading more or less in a southerly direction.

We must have been walking for several miles without any sign of change when at last something happened. The Briarwood's moving torches had stopped, and they were now standing still in the middle of the passage. I slowed down, moving forward cautiously, careful to keep quiet. Finally I came to stop, not daring to come any closer. Vaguely I could make out that the Briarwoods had come to a door, though I couldn't from this distance tell what it looked like, or where it might lead to. It seemed like they were in the process of opening it and going inside. 

Sure enough, a few moments later their torches disappeared, the light cut off by the door closing behind them. I decided to risk getting caught. Still afraid of using my glowstone, I groped my way forward until my hands met solid resistance. The door under my hands seemed to be smooth and very cold to the touch, and when I tried to listen through it I couldn't make out any sounds. Pushing against it yielded no results, the door was locked, and after debating with myself for a moment I decided to risk a little light. The glowstone's radiance revealed a thick metal door, made of the same brassy acid resistant metal alloy, and I could see that the reason I had been unable to open it was because the door was barred. Something I hadn't noticed in the dark. It was easy enough to lift the metal bar, and after that the door easily yielded to my pushing, swinging open slightly. 

Once again smothering my glowstone, I pushed the door all the way open. The room that lay beyond was completely black, and after a moment I pulled my light out again. The light revealed a round, dome shaped chamber, completely covered in bolted plates of acid resistant metal. In the center of the room a trench was sunk three feet down into the floor, and a sloping ramp on this side of the room dropped down into it. On the other side of the room another ramp appeared, climbing out of the trench and up to another platform like the one I was standing on, where another door could faintly be seen. The entire room was empty, the door across from me closed, and it was obvious that the Briarwoods had gone straight through. 

Awed and feeling a bit overwhelmed, I slowly entered the room, trying to take in the magnitude of this construct. This was like nothing I had ever even begun to imagine: a tunnel that snaked down deep under the earth, a pit full of stone melting acid, and now a giant chamber constructed entirely out of bronze. What in the Nine Hells could this all be for? This was huge! I was sure it must be outrageously expensive, no metal like this was mined anywhere in Whitestone, it would have to be imported from gods only knows where. A vague sense of dread settled over me as I wondered what could possibly drive them to such lengths, such extravagant expense, for no material gain that I could see. 

Going to the nearest wall I tapped it with my knuckle, and it let out a dull ringing sound, a ripple of faint tremors running through the metal plates. As the faint warbling vibrations ended, I realized that there was another sound echoing around the chamber: the sound of distant footsteps. Out in the passage behind me I could see a light, not actually reaching into the room, but still visible in the distance. Instantly my heart jumped into my throat, and I felt the spike of alarm sharpen my senses. There was no more time to look around, I had to get out of here, time was up. Leaping down the ramp, I crossed the room, heading for the door I had seen faintly in the wall. 

All this time I had trusted to luck, and luck had served me well, but now fortune was quickly turning against me. The door I found was not metal, but a block of solid whitestone, thick enough that tapping it yielded no hollow sound. Searching the doorframe and nearby walls gave me no clue how to open it. As far as I knew, the Briarwoods had walked through solid rock, for I could find no other way to get past it. I was cornered, no way forward, and no way back. 

After struggling against my inevitable fate for a few moments longer I finally resigned myself, turning toward the metal door, thrusting my glowstone deep into my pocket, and waiting patiently for what ever was coming. As the footsteps drew nearer, the faint high pitched sound of whistling warbled around the inside of the chamber I was trapped in, and I realized that it must be Ripley. No one else was cheerful enough to whistle in Castle Whitestone these days. Yellow torchlight filtered through the half open door of the chamber, and the next moment Anna had pushed into the room, her whistling faltering when she saw me.

"Oh..." Anna said slowly, a marked flavor of distaste in her tone. "I should have known it was you..." 

I felt embarrassed warmth creeping up my neck, and endeavored to draw further back into the non existent shadows, feeling horribly exposed under the torchlight. At that moment I wanted nothing more than for the coppery floor to open up and swallow me. I didn't dare answer her, and stood silent. 

"Well you've certainly gotten yourself into a bit of trouble." Ripley continued after a moment's awkward silence, in which it became abundantly clear I wasn't going to talk. "Take her back up to the castle, and one of you go get Silas. He'll want to know that his little pet has misbehaved." 

As she said this, her tone cold and disdainful, she stepped out of the doorway. Four of the re-animated servants shuffled into the room, bringing with them a large block of whitestone that they had been carrying, and they dropped it into the strange trench that ran through the center of the room. I only had a moment to wonder why they were bringing whitestone all the way down here, when I realized that two of them were crossing the room to seize me. Unwilling to let them touch me I tried to get away, but the foul things moved with startling speed, and as they seized me roughly by the arms their grip was painfully strong. Both of them reeked of death, and I felt bile rise in the back of my throat as the stench hit me, reminding me of the time my brothers had found a half rotten bird in the garden. A mingled sense of revulsion and resentment stirred within me, prompting a struggle for freedom, and I fought to escape as hard as I could. 

For a moment Anna watched me struggle, a faint smile playing about the corners of her mouth. But at last my two captors exerted their own terrible strength, driving me to my knees, and holding me down. 

"Take her away." Ripley said crossing the room, and pushing me softly to one side. She bent down, her fingers sliding under the edge of a saucer sized metal plate that I had thought was bolted to the floor, and she lifted it. Underneath I saw a small white gem, similar to an opal in its color, and I just had time to see Anna lay her hand on it before I was dragged away. Twisting my head back over my shoulder, I saw the slab of whitestone which I had been unable to move slide up out of sight, briefly revealing more tunnel beyond it. Before I could see any more, one of the dead servants that had accompanied Ripley closed the brass door of the room, blocking my view. 

As the door closed behind me, it completely blocked the light from the torches that had accompanied Anna, and the tunnel was plunged into darkness. My two undead escorts didn't seem to be inconvenienced in the least, and continued with sure footsteps, as if the brightest summer sunlight lit the hallway. For me however it was a torturous journey, walking in darkness, the stench of death filling the air around me, stifling me until it was a trial just to breathe. Other shapes, half sensed but never fully visible, passed us in the darkness. I could see absolutely nothing, and I never heard any breath except my own, but I could tell when they were there. Maybe it was a faint draft, or some other sixth sense, but somehow I knew. 

Finally, after what felt like weary days of walking blindly in the dark, I felt us turn around the bend that meant we had reached the fork in the path. Though I couldn't see it, I could tell by the strong acidic smell that we were walking past the passage that went down to the acid pits. Tracking the feel of the earth under my feet, I could tell when we left the tunnel and stepped into the family crypt, the packed earth changing to smooth stone, while the air took on a more dusty flavor. But even though I knew where we were, I still couldn't see it, and the lingering smell of rotting flesh still hung in the air around me. The winding stairs that descended down from the wine cellar above were very narrow, and I was forced to walk with one of my captors in front of me, and the other behind me. 

Even the faint light filtering through the cellar's outer doors was more light than my eyes were accustomed to, and I blinked as we stepped out into the cellar, momentarily blinded. The two abominations that lead me along didn't seem to care, continuing without stopping. On this journey there was no need to use the outer doors, and I was dragged up the short flight of stairs into the servant's wing. I was in fact, back in the same hallway where I had distracted the dead guard by tossing a copper piece, the same hallway where I had seen blood smears without any bodies all those years ago. 

The rest of the journey seemed to take only moments, and before I knew where I was I had been dragged to my father's study, (Lord Briarwood's study now), and planted firmly in a chair by the fire. Looking around the study, it hardly felt like the same place. The untidy mess of papers on Father's desk was gone, and there was nothing on it except an ink well, one piece of parchment laid exactly in the center of the desk, and a quill pen neatly placed next to the parchment. All the books had been rearranged in alphabetical order, and the stacks of scrolls had been straitened. But worst of all, where tapestries and portraits had previously occupied any unused space, there were now empty stone walls.

I waited in silence for what ever was coming next, lost in looking around the study, a place I had only visited twice since my return to the castle five months ago. There were too many memories here, things I would rather forget all about. A musical voice, and the sound of approaching footsteps, interrupted my thoughts. Silas and Delilah both entered the room a few moments later, accompanied by Ripley and a handful of soldiers. As they entered Silas let out an irritated ejaculation, his hand rising instinctively to shield his face from the bright autumn sunlight that streamed in through the study window and illuminated a patch of the carpet. 

"Close that." Lady Briarwood demanded sharply, and one of the guards hastened to obey, tugging the curtains closed noisily. At once Silas seemed to grow more comfortable, blinking a few times, as one does when momentarily blinded by a bright light. Delilah gave him a sympathetic pat, and strolled away to the other side of the desk, checking to make sure that the curtains were completely drawn. Apparently satisfied, Delilah dropped her arms, and both her and her husband turned to look at me. 

Up until now I had managed to keep up something like a rebellious spirit. I had submitted to what I knew I couldn't escape from, and silently resented it, but Lord Briarwood's entrance into the room felt like being plunged into a cold bath. My resentment died in a moment, and the full implications of what I had done suddenly dawned upon me. I had disobeyed him! My father and dearest friend, I had betrayed his trust, wandered where I knew I shouldn't, and twisted his words to my own wicked ends. Guilt washed over me, a seed of cold nausea settling in the pit of my stomach. I felt sick.

"Leave us." Lord Briarwood commanded sternly.

"Wait." Lady Briarwood said softly, speaking to the guards, while her eyes never left my face. "One of you go and fetch Anders. Say that I would like to speak to him at once." At last her eyes broke away from my face, and an unmistakable hint of menace entered her tone. "If he should refuse to come, bring him, whether he is willing or not. The rest of you may go, and if you should disturb us, it will be at your own peril."

"Yes my lady." The guards all said in unison, and they left the room, their faces completely unreadable.

"You too." Lord Briarwood said, turning to Anna who had remained behind. "If you would be so kind as to leave us, this is not a matter that concerns you."

"I'm really starting to wonder if this whole venture is really worth all the trouble it's caused me..." Anna said coolly, crossing her arms, and remaining inert in the center of the room.

"You will be compensated appropriately for your inconvenience, as promised." Lady Briarwood put in silkily. "Have we not proved to be good on our word?"

"True..." Anna said thoughtfully. "As long as I leave this place better off than when I entered it, I'm content."

"As to that, you need have no worries." Silas said. "You will most certainly be better off."

"I'll remember that promise." Ripley said with a tight smile that didn't look at all friendly, and she swiftly left the room.

"Insatiable shrew..." Delilah muttered angrily, and a chill washed over me at the deadly look on her face.

"She has her uses." Silas said in a soothing tone. "Admittedly few and far between..."

"It's beside the point," Delilah said dismissively, turning her attention back to me. "Currently we have her to deal with."

Until now nobody had bothered to think about me for the last five months. I had silently observed the tension between Delilah and Ripley, Professor Anders' slavish devotion to both Lord and Lady Briarwood, while they unmistakably looked down on him, but nobody had paid any attention to me. Anders had ignored or mistreated me, as his fancy dictated, Ripley had degraded me, Lady Briarwood had showed me casual affection, but that was all. This was different. A chill washed over me as they both examined me, and I looked away, feeling a wave of guilty heat creep up my face.

"Look at me." Lord Briarwood said sternly. 

I tried to meet Silas's eyes, but I could only hold his gaze for a moment before I was forced to look away. A long weighted silence filled the room, I could feel myself shrinking under it, the cold lump in my stomach growing heavier. With startling speed Lord Briarwood lunged forward, shoving me back against the chair, his face inches from mine. I gripped the arms of my chair, and turned my face away, a dose of poisonous fear shooting through me. Delilah let out a scornful laugh, her eyes scorchingly cold.

"Perhaps you've lost your touch my dear." She said to Silas, walking up behind him and massaging his shoulders affectionately.

"Look at me!" Silas commanded, his voice booming right in my face, causing me to flinch. Unwillingly I turned and looked at him. A shiver ran through me as soon as I met his gaze, followed by complete numbness. "How dare you pry into our private business..."

"I'm sorry." I whispered shuddering. Moving with uncanny speed Lord Briarwood seized me, dragging me from my chair, and throwing me to the ground at his feet.

"I took you under my wing!" He thundered, kicking me in the gut with sickening force. "I clothed you, I spared your life, I gave you a place at my table. And you betrayed me. I should have slaughtered you, a deceitful, filthy little liar such as you! Slit your throat, and thrown your carcass to the dogs, just like I did to the rest of your family."

The hissing venom of his voice cut me to the core, and I let out a sob, repentant tears blurring my vision. A spike of aching pain, that had nothing to do with the throbbing pain of being kicked, slowly sank through the center of my chest as he spoke. Anything would have been easier than this: being stabbed with knives, eaten alive, drowned, burned, anything. He was right: I was nothing. I was worse than nothing, it would have been better if I had never been born.

"I'm sorry..." I sobbed, unable to find any other words within me but those two. Tears overcame me, and I clung to Silas's leg desperately, crying uncontrollably.

"You can grovel and beg all you like." Silas said, yanking his leg out of my grip, and kicking me away from him with savage ferocity. "My forgiveness is earned."

Silence once again filled the room, and my desperate sobs were the only thing that broke the stillness. Delilah had strolled away to the window, and she was now standing stark against the dark velvet curtains, humming softly to herself. Releasing me from his gaze, Silas went back to his desk stood at its corner, deep in thought. I had't dared to move, and was still curled up in the exact same position on the floor, completely crushed. Suddenly Delilah turned towards the door, as if she was expecting someone to walk through it at any moment, even though I had sensed no sign of change. A moment later one of the Briarwood's guards entered, followed by Anders, and I wearily lifted myself into a sitting position.

"My lord..." Anders said cheerfully, advancing forward confidently. "My lady."

"Anders..." Delilah said softly, leaving the window, her voice icy calm. The Professor halted in his tracks at the sound of her voice, and for a moment I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes as he noticed me on the floor. But it was gone in a flash, and he smiled as cheerfully as before, bowing low.

"How may I be of service?" He asked jovially.

"You could start by doing the tasks we've already given to you..." Silas said, his voice completely expressionless, his eyes dead.

"Which I have faithfully done."

"Don't lie to me..." Silas said warningly.

"What's this about?" Anders said, his show of confidence slipping, and his eyes darted fearfully back and forth between Lord Briarwood and his wife.

"I think you know what this is about." Silas said, still expressionless.

"I- I don't know what-" The Professor spluttered.

"Anders!" Delilah said sharply, and the glass ink bottle at the corner of the desk shattered, sending ink and shards of glass across the desktop. The unexpected sound caused both the Professor and I to flinch. Lady Briarwood turned, pacing away across the room, and I could see her shoulders heaving.

"I don't know what this is about! I've faithfully-" The Professor began.

"We didn't ask you to speak." Lady Briarwood said, interrupting him before he could finish, and she flicked her wrist, muttering under her breath. The sound of the Professor's voice vanished. His mouth still moved, but the sound was gone, and after a moment he stopped trying.

"That's better..." She said, lowering her hand with a smile. "I was getting so tired of your meaningless prattle..."

"To anyone but a fool our arrangement would seem simple." Silas said. "You carry out your allotted tasks, and we reward you appropriately.What you don't seem to understand is that failure will also be rewarded. If we give you a task, a very simple task, and you do not complete it, that deserves punishment. But I would have thought that keeping an eye on one girl would have been easy enough. We trusted you with a responsibility. You were to make sure that she couldn't find her way into places not meant for her to see, keep her quiet, busy, out of harm's way, and guard against her trying to escape, however unlikely that was. It seemed simple enough. Yet somehow she has managed to evade you, and from what I have been able to read, has had full range over the castle for some time..."

For a moment Silas paused, crossing his arms and regarding Anders thoughtfully, as if he was nothing more than a cut of meat. I could see Anders wilting under his scrutiny. All this time he had been completely unable to speak, for when he tried no sound emerged from his mouth, and even though I hated the man I did feel a kind of grudging pity. I wouldn't have traded places with him for all the gold or jewels the world could give me.

"But that is not the point." Silas said. "If it were nothing more than a few forbidden excursions, it would matter very little. However, our project beneath the castle was the one thing above all others which she was never to see, under any circumstances. But because of your failure, she managed not only to see the mausoleum, but the distillery as well."

"Hours, Anders. She was completely untracked for hours" Delilah added, her voice bitingly cold. Anders by this time was completely cowed, and he stood with slightly hunched shoulders, waiting for his fate. A disgusted expression disfigured Lady Briarwood's shapely mouth for a moment, she raised her hand and flicked her wrist.

"Thank you my lady..." The Professor said, massaging his neck as if he had just been freed from a noose.

"Well speak up." Lady Briarwood said, growing impatient. "I assume you've got some pitiful excuse to say for yourself."

"Does He--" Anders hesitated, his voice trembling fearfully, and he swallowed nervously. "Does He know?"

"Secrets must be kept Anders." Delilah said, her voice becoming strangely methodical, as if she were repeating some kind of mantra. "He is far from happy."

The Professor shuddered, and tried to speak, but nothing more came out than a faint whimper. He was clearly terrified.

"And now, because of your failure, we are all burdened with the consequences." Silas said. For a moment his eyes fell on me, and I felt the same shiver run through my body, followed by numbness. "I have some influence with her, but I have no power to remove memories. This is a deadly misstep, and none of us can fix it easily."

"We could kill her..." Anders said, and as he looked at me a faint flicker of life came back into his eyes. A sick sense of joy in tyrannizing over me, transferring the shame of being dominated away from himself.

"No!" Lady Briarwood said with strange vehemence. "No, don't kill her..."

Quickly she crossed the room, putting a finger under my chin, and gently tilting my head up. For a moment our eyes met, and I saw something there, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. It wasnt' sadness exactly, but there was grief in it, and even though there was also a kind of warmth, it wasn't affectionate. I only had time to catch a glimpse of this, and realize that it was a familiar expression, before she broke eye contact. She didn't release me, but her eyes were fixed on my mouth instead.

"Give her something to keep her busy, and she'll behave. Isn't that right?" She said thoughtfully. "And after all, you might come in useful one of these days."

"We've already talked about this." Silas said. "If I remember correctly, we both agreed that it was too dangerous."

"I suppose." Delilah said with a shrug. "But what we have been doing clearly isn't working. And after all, you have to admit: Cassandra's sphere of influence would extend much farther than our own. Sometimes the reward is worth the risk...You should have more faith in your powers."

"Weren't you just telling me that I was, how did you put it? 'Loosing my touch'?"

"I was only teasing." Lady Briarwood said blithely, going to her husband and playfully ruffling his hair. "Of course I believe in you."

Lord Briarwood didn't immediately respond, and sat with his arms crossed at the edge of the desk, regarding his wife. She ran her fingers though his hair, a half smile playing about her mouth. Confidence almost oozed from her, and it wasn't difficult to see that she was quite certain that she was going to have her way.

"I love you..." Silas said thoughtfully, his arms dropping to his sides in defeat.

"Of course you do."

"But this is all your doing. This is for you to manage, and I don't want any part of it..."

"Yes, yes, I know." Lady Briarwood said, waving her hand dismissively, and planting a quick peck on his cheek. She stood up, turning back towards Anders, and her brief gayety evaporated. Her face was cold and stern. "You may go, and until you have proved more fit for the task, I will relieve you of your position as Cassandra's steward. Be thankful that no harsher punishments were given, you keep your privileges and a place in His service."

"You are too kind my lady." The Professor said, bowing low.

"He will not forget this Anders." Lady Briarwood replied warningly. For a moment I thought I saw Anders flinch again, but he had recovered much of his former self control, and if there was any fear in him, it was well hidden.

"Of course." He said.

"Send in the guards when you go."   
With a final bow, Anders left the room. A moment later one of the Briarwood's guards entered the room. Advancing ten measured paces into the room, he stopped facing the desk, with his hands behind his back and his shoulders straight.

"Send a messenger to fetch our correspondent, the young priest, I forget his name..." Delilah said.

"Yes my lady." 

The guard exited the room again, leaving me alone with the Lord and Lady. Neither of them paid me the slightest attention, as Delilah drew her husband away to one corner of the room, whispering with him under her breath. I felt very small and insignificant. Heavy silence once again settled over the room, and the time seemed to drag, having no measure. My right leg fell asleep.

_***_

Nearly and hour had gone by before there was any sign of a change. The last time I had spent such a long period of time in this room was when I had hidden in the chimney during the attack on the castle, desperate and alone, running for my life. Just like in the past, the sound of approaching footsteps warned me of intruders before they entered, and my body stiffened instinctively. 

"Finally." Lady Briarwood said sourly, turning around expectantly. 

"Apologies for the delay my lady." One of the guards said respectfully as he entered, holding the door open for another. "It was rather difficult to find him."

Entering the room behind the man, looking both awed and overwhelmed by the castle's grand spaces, was Ivan. He looked a little thinner than when I had last seen him. The rough spun cotton tunic he wore hung loosely around his form, pulled tight by a short leather belt,  and his nose was smudged with dirt, giving him the untidy appearance of an awkward scarecrow. Grease or some other dark stain was worked into the roots of his white blond hair close to his forehead, and the dark streaks on his face made his eyes look shockingly blue by comparison. 

"Ivan!" I cried ecstatically, starting to rise to my feet, never so happy to see the face of a friend. I had thought he was dead, along with the rest of Mattias's men, and seeing him apparently alive and well made me giddy. Silas cast me a disapproving look, sending the same wave of numbness over my body, and I sank back to my knees subdued. At the sound of my voice Ivan turned, a similar look of recognition and joy lighting up his eyes, but like me he sensed that this was not the time for blissful reunions and he didn't speak.

"Cassandra." Silas said holding out his hand to me and speaking commandingly, with the faintest hint of condescension creeping into his tone, as if he were talking to a disliked but useful slave. "Come here."

Meekly I rose to my feet, crossing the room and taking his hand. Guiding me around to the other side of the desk, Silas forcefully thrust me down into his chair, sliding the quill pen and parchment closer to me, and firmly laying my hands on them.

"We have a job for you to perform." Lady Briarwood said. I felt a chill wash over me and nodded slowly. "You would like a job of course? You would like to help us in any way you can?"

"Of course." I said apprehensively, wondering exactly where this was going.

"You have lots of friends in Whitestone of course, old contacts you could get in touch with. You are the last surviving de Rolo after all, they look to you for guidance, for leadership in fact."

"Yes."

"We need someone to keep an eye on them. They're always hatching underhanded plots, making trouble, and if we had someone on the inside it would make predicting they're actions much easier."

"You want me to betray my people..." I said slowly, feeling my stomach twist into a cold knot.

"No! Of course not..." Delilah said soothingly. "Nothing like that! All you would have to do is keep in touch with them. Write a few letters, and if they happened to be planning anything you would tell us. That's all. You wouldn't be betraying them, and their actions are misguided. All we are asking is that you provide us with an early warning."

"If they wanted to hurt us, you would do anything it takes to protect us, correct?" Silas prodded, leaning forward and speaking right into my ear. I flinched and shut my eyes, trying to block his voice out of my head.

"Of course..." I said, the words slipping through my lips before I could stop them, and an aching spike of guilt pushed into my gut.

"Then keep in touch with them. Find out their secrets, and tell us everything that you find. If you want to earn my forgiveness, this is what you must do."

I didn't answer, and sat frozen, hands on the desk, starring blindly at the blank paper in front of me. Lord Briarwood silently reached out, taking the quill pen, and put it in the center of the blank parchment. He then drew back, waiting patiently for my response. The knot of guilt in my gut twisted tighter, and I shut my eyes trying to block the quill pen out, caught between the two warring thoughts.

On the one hand I loved my people. I had been saved to protect them from harm, to lead them, just as my father had, and his father before him, and all my forefathers back into the mist of time beyond any recall but the ancient texts of my family tree. Yet I also loved Silas. I had lost so many loved ones, and Lord and Lady Briarwood were all the family I had left. The thought of loosing another loved one was like contemplating chopping my left arm off. A sickening twist of nausea swelled within me at the mere thought, and my mind shied away from the pain.

Slowly, almost against my will, my hand reached out and grasped the quill pen. It was all the answer I could have given in my state, but it was all the answer that was needed. I had given in to my devotion to Silas, he came before all, even my people.

"That's a good girl." Silas said tolerantly, leaning back with a smile. "Trust me, this will be easy, all you have to do is copy what she tells you." 

"Yes sir." I said, pulling my chair forward, hesitantly dipping the quill pen, and looking up at Lady Briarwood expectantly.

Numbly I copied her words, vaguely understanding what I was writing, and all the while the fearsome power of Silas gaze beat on me. When it was over I felt completely exhausted, even though it had only taken a few minutes to write, and I had only a clouded idea of what the paper said.

I knew only that it contained words of comfort, assuring its intended recipient that I was alive, held prisoner by the Briarwood's, and still intent on getting revenge. According to the letter I could give them aid in preparing for any attack on the castle, offering to spy on the Briarwoods in hopes of finding a weakness. And all of it was worded with deadly charm, veiled under a strong sense of sympathy for my people, a fear of being caught, but a stronger feeling of doing what was necessary despite the danger. If gaining the trust of the rebel leaders was what Lady Briarwood wanted, she could not have worded the letter more perfectly.

"Very nice, very convincing...that will do very well..." Delilah said smugly, picking up the freshly written letter as I laid my pen down, and examining it closely. "Thank you my dear, this is very good work."

"I'm glad you think so."

"Tell me my dear, who do you think would have been the most influential of your fellow confabulators?" Lady Briarwood asked. "Who would be the most important leader in any future uprisings."

"I was the leader..." I said, coloring with shame when I thought about it. "But Archibald Desnay and Yennin were both very helpful. Yennin was in a good position to communicate with the people, and he has many disciples in the community. But Archibald knew a lot more about tactical planning, and he has contacts with all the influential people in Whitestone, because of his work with my father."

"Archibald then. You boy, come here." Lady Briarwood said, folding the letter and turning to Ivan, who came forward with marked hesitation. "You are to deliver this letter to Archibald. If he asks, you'll tell him that you managed to get in contact with Cassandra and work together with her against us. Understand?"

"Yes m'lady." Ivan said, taking the letter from Delilah, and seeming to be rather awed by her.

"Now go, the guards will show you out. Cassandra you can go too."

Quietly we left the room, leaving Silas and Delilah alone, and stepping out into the hall where two of the living guards stood waiting. Heedless of them watching us I threw my arms around Ivan, standing on my toes because he was so tall,  and embraced him tightly.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you..." I said, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

"They told us that you were dead." Ivan said clumsily, breaking away from me and glancing apprehensively at the guards. "I think we should talk later though, I'm supposed to come back again tomorrow."

"Alright..." I said slowly, getting control of myself.

"That was rough back there, the way they twisted your arm like that." Ivan added uncomfortably. "But you did the right thing."

"I know." I said with a halfhearted smile. But before I could say anything more the guards silently stepped forward, one taking Ivan by the arm, while the other walked behind, and they silently lead him away.


	8. Under a Fair Outward Face

A shiver ran through me, and I pulled my wrap closer around me, nuzzling my face down into the soft fur lining. It was a frigid day. Every day was frigid in Whitestone. A heavy mass of gray clouds blanketed the sky, threatening snow, as if the sky was poised to sneeze at a moment's notice. Crisp patches of icy, half melted then re-frozen snow, lay piled under the castles leeward side, and lingered stubbornly in any hollow in the landscape. The tall grass that grew on the ridge's flat treeless top was all flattened by the snow. It lay in traitorous gray mats over the ground that disguised any dip or stubborn root, so that you could trip if you weren't careful. A thin, biting wind was blowing, rushing headlong over the flat ground without resistance. Its sound rushed mournfully through the twisted branches of the single lonely tree that grew at the edge of the road, now leafless and barren in the winter chill.

Even though I had spent my entire life in this chilly landscape the wind was still bitingly cold, and I could feel it nipping at my fingers and toes, piercing through the layered fir and wool of my winter cloak. I chafed my hands, even though I knew it wouldn't really do any good, and breathed on my fingers before thrusting them back into the warm folds of my cloak. Another swirl of winter wind sent a shudder down my back, and I wished fervently that Ivan would get here soon, the cold was making my nose run.

With a slight feeling of relief I saw Ivan struggle up the last bend of the road, his head coming into view as the road climbed up the last incline and leveled out, turning towards the castle. I smiled and freed my hand from the cloak to wave at him. He waved back, trudging up the final muddy stretch of road, vaulting the low stone wall at the road's edge, picking his way across the mats of dead grass, and throwing himself down on the ground next to me.

"You look frosty..." I said, frowning.

"Quite warm actually." He said, panting hard and mopping his forehead with one sleeve. "Climbing up that hill got up quite a glow, and I'll run on the way home, to keep my blood up."

"Still, you should wear something warm."

"I've got a coat!"

"That coat won't do shit in this weather." I said, beginning to undo my cloak and pull it off.

"I'm not going to take your cloak Cas!" Ivan said indignantly, trying to give it back to me.

"I'm bringing and extra one tomorrow."

"Well do that if it makes you feel better!" Ivan said grudgingly, settling my cloak around his shoulders. "I'm not going to keep taking your clothes."

"How's the Father?" I asked, changing the subject.

"All well. Nothing to report." Ivan said absently. I always asked about Father Rynoll everyday, with unfailing regularity. The question and its reply had become a kind of ritual.

"What about you?" I prodded.

"I'm all right. The temple is rather crowded at the moment, we've got a farmer and his eight children sheltering with us. Their home was burned down by Count Tyleeri's men, and they needed somewhere to stay while they rebuild a new home, so we've got eleven beds stuffed into the kitchen."

"Isn't there room in the sanctuary?" I asked, the image of Ivan and the family stuffed into the kitchen, like so many peas in a pod, making me laugh.

"It gets too cold at night, so we have to stay closer to the fire." Ivan replied with a shrug. "What about you?"

"I'm alright..." I said with a halfhearted shrug of my own, even though I didn't really mean it.

"Really..."

"Yes!" I shoved him away, laughing, and trying to hide my face from him. "Really, I'm alright. I'm just a little tired...."

"Well, try to get some sleep." Ivan replied, pulling a folded letter out of his coat pocket, and handing it to me.

I took it, and shivered as the cold winter wind blew over me, clutching the letter in my numb fingers. With a stern look that would take no argument, Ivan shook off my cloak and settled it back around my shoulders. Gently he patted my arm, then climbed to his feet, and set off down the road towards Whitestone. Silently I watched him go, his figure getting smaller and smaller, until at last he vanished over the edge of the hill and I was left alone in the chill winter wind.

Rising to my feet, I gingerly picked my way along the edge of the castle wall, vaulting the low stone fence that bordered the muddy road. The wooden gates of Castle Whitestone loomed over my head as I struggled through the mud up the last short stretch of road. The gate's formidable structure of hard wood and banded iron barred any entrance, and the shadowed arch swallowed me as I came up to the gate. One of the guards grudgingly opened the way for me, tugging one of the huge wooden doors back with all his strength, so that I had a large enough gap to slip through.

I didn't speak to him, and he never tried to talk to me. The Briarwoods had given strict orders that I was never to speak to any of the castle staff. Most of the servants were already dead, and probably didn't have enough of a living intelligence left to speak with, but a very few of the servants and some of the guards were still living, and I longed to talk to them. But it was forbidden, so I never tried.

Snow was beginning to drift down as I crossed the castle courtyard, settling on the weathered stones and sticking to them. The flakes muffled the air, deadening sounds, and in the complete silence I could hear them rustling faintly, tumbling to the ground with a nearly imperceptible whisper. For a moment I paused in the middle of the courtyard, standing frozen with my face tilted up, just listening. I loved this sound. It was so indescribable, I could never have put it into words. 

After a moment I crossed the rest of the courtyard, mounting the castle steps, and pushing through the thick double doors into the foyer. I shivered as I pushed the door shut behind me, shedding my cloak and shaking the snowflakes out of my hair. Footsteps echoing in the silence, I quickly crossed the wide vaulted chamber, gently opening one of the doors on the left side of the hall.

The door opened into one of the best sitting rooms, where Lady Briarwood, and now myself, spent most of the day. It was a large chamber, lavishly furnished in Vesper's best style, with dark royal blue being the predominant color of both the window curtains and the carpet. A large, richly polished grand piano dominated the center of the room, surrounded by low couches and armchairs, and a giant harp stood in one corner. Light streamed in through the huge glass windows that looked out over the courtyard, and through them I could see the snow starting to fall more thickly. Orange firelight contrasted with the cold winter light, beckoning you into the warmth of the flames, and it gave the chairs and tables around the hearth a cozy look. Framed against the glow of the blaze I could see Lady Briarwood, sitting luxuriously in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, idly stitching a piece of needlework, though it didn't seem to really occupy her full interest.

Quietly I crossed the room, afraid of distracting Lady Briarwood, and went to one of the window seats where I plopped down on a cushion, tucking my feet up underneath me and pulling out the letter that Ivan had given to me. It wasn't much to look at, written on plain paper, with no seal of any kind. But once I opened the letter Archibald's handwriting made up for all that. The whole letter was written in a flowing script, with large capital letters, and a beautiful signature at the end. It was easy to see that Archibald had once been a powerful person when you looked at his handwriting.

"What are you reading?"

I jumped at the sound of Lady Briarwood's voice, so unexpected in the silence, and looked over at her. She had straitened up in her chair, drawing her needle and thread through the fabric with a delicate tug, and she looked up at me with newly kindled attention.

"A letter from Archibald...Ivan just brought it..." I murmured hesitantly, unused to speaking to her so directly.

"Well come and read it to me." She said, gesturing at the chair across from her imperiously.

"It's not very interesting..." I stammered, completely caught off guard by this sudden command.

"Come here, and read to me." Delilah said, waving away the awkward excuse.

With nothing left to do but comply, I crossed the room, sinking shyly down into the chair she had gestured at. This was something that had never been asked of me. I spent most of my days alone with Lady Briarwood, but she hardly ever spoke to me, and I spoke even less. Now she not only wanted me to sit near her, but also read to her.

"I'm not a very good reader..." (Which was completely true).

"That doesn't matter." She said, drawing another stitch of her needlework tight with the same delicate tug. "I'm in the mood for a little company."

I had read a book out loud to Mother once, a long time ago, and only once, but I undoubtedly made an even poorer showing now than I had done then. Nervousness made my voice shake, and I couldn't bring myself to speak above a murmur. But more than that, something about the letter felt deeply personal to me, and reading it aloud felt horrible, like telling Lady Briarwood my dirtiest secret. I would hardly have been able to read it at all, if I had thought Lady Briarwood was actually listening. But she didn't seem to care what the letter said, and sat doing her needle work, lost in her own private thoughts.

About halfway through the letter, Lady Briarwood let out a sudden cry of frustration, and pulled too hard on her thread, causing it to break and tear a hole in her fabric. Throwing the needlework, fabric and all, into the fire, she started to her feet and paced away across the room. I sat still in my chair, startled into silence. After standing lost in thought by the window, blindly watching the snowflakes tumble past, she came back to her chair. 

"Keep reading."

Meekly I complied, but it was now even clearer than before that she wasn't really listening to what I was saying, and sat compulsively wrapping a piece of embroidery thread around her finger. It only took a few moments for her to grow restless again, and she started out of her chair, going to the piano and standing by it. For a moment I thought she was going to play it, then she turned away, going to one of the small bookshelves in the room and looking at the books. 

"Can you play the piano?" Delilah said softly, interrupting me, and still standing with her back to me. 

"Not really." I said. For a moment I almost told her that Father had wanted me to, and Whitney had learned, but I never paid attention to the lessons and had promptly forgotten everything taught to me.

But as I thought about mentioning my family in front of her, I shrank away from the thought. Quietly Lady Briarwood set her book down, slowly coming back to the piano, and sitting down in front of it. Lifting the lid, she ran her fingers over the keys. Almost reverently as if they were something sacred.

"Come here." She said softly, beckoning me with one hand, and patting the bench next to her. "Come and sit with me." 

I felt slightly relieved that she had seemingly lost interest in my letter, but that relief was countered by confusion and apprehension at Lady Briarwood's strange mood. I couldn't understand it. She seemed utterly different than I had ever seen her before. Her eyes were sad, and there was a gentleness in her voice when she spoke to me, a softness to her face that was unlike her. But it was the response within my own heart that truly frightened me. I felt drawn to her, attracted by her new gentleness. I wanted to come closer to her...

"Cassandra, come here." She said, holding out her hand, and my heart ached at the sound of my name. Before I new what I was doing I had come closer, sliding down onto the bench next to her. Gently she took my hand, guiding it over the keys as she named them to me. She taught me how to play a scale, and had me practice until I could play it perfectly.

***

By the time I had managed it the darkness of night was beginning to fall over the valley, shrouding the city of Whitestone in shadow, and the sitting room fire began to burn down. Servants silently entered, lightning the many candles that were scattered about the room. Delilah started at their intrusion, glancing at the darkened windows as if she had lost track of time. 

"You can go." She said, but even as she spoke she took my hand, running her finger over the palm. "I'll teach you more tomorrow..." 

The servants one by one left the room, going as silently as they had come, and I rose to follow them. But Lady Briarwood still kept hold of my hand and I couldn't leave her. At that moment Silas entered, and as soon as she saw him Delilah released my hand, her gentleness evaporating as her face hardened. 

"Get out." She commanded, shoving me away from her.

Feeling confused, and strangely hurt, I complied. Lord Briarwood cast me a disapproving look, and I felt a guilty blush rise over my face. As I passed him, he followed me to the door, holding it open. Two guards were standing outside in the hall, and held tightly between them was a dirty Whitestone peasant. What he could possibly be doing here was beyond me, and I stopped in my tracks, watching as the guards silently pulled him into the room I had just left, and Lord Briarwood shut the door.

My curiosity was peaked, and I hesitated, once again tempted to spy. I knew it was a stupid idea. This was exactly how I had fucked up last time...Always I felt drawn to break the rules, to assert my own rebellious spirit over Lord Briarwood's commands. I listened to the whispering of my heart, breathing wayward desires in my ear. Once I had disobeyed him. I didn't dare do it again.

But it was so strange, that peasant being here. Perhaps he was a spy for the Briarwood's? Like Ivan was. But Ivan had never mentioned him. For a moment of time I wavered, torn between duty and desire. I could feel the voice of disobedience getting more insistent the longer I wavered.

 _What harm would it do?_   _If you're quick, no one will know you did it_.

Silently I turned away from the sitting room, crossing the wide hall to the castle's double doors. With one last glance behind me, to make sure I wasn't being watched, I seized one of the door's iron rings and tugged hard until the door slowly yielded. A breath of chill night air washed over me as I opened the door, bringing snowflakes out of the darkness into the castle's interior. Gracefully I slipped through the gap, out into the night's winter darkness, and tugged the door closed behind me. 

It was a dark night. The moon was heavily obscured by thick snow laden clouds, and even if the night had been clear, it was still far from the full. Hardly enough light to see by. Cold darkness filled the air around me, obscuring even nearby objects. It settled down over the valley like a heavy blanket, filling the space between the tall peaks of the Alabaster Sierras like a giant bowl. Flakes of snow settled over me, and I shivered without the warm protection of my winter cloak.

In the complete darkness I could clearly see the warm firelight of the sitting room, streaming through its large window panes, that flung out square patches of yellow light onto the snow. About an itch and a half of the newly made flakes had fallen over the cobblestones of the castle courtyard, and it made a soft crunching sound as I stepped on it. Shivering slightly with the cold, I carefully picked my way through the snow at the foot of the castle wall, taking care to stay beneath the edge of the window frames.

At the base of the central window I stopped. Nobody had seen me...There was still time to go back if I wanted...For a moment I crouched at the base of the castle wall, my eyes trying in vain to pierce the darkness that blanketed the courtyard, then I slid upwards, fingers locking over the edge of the stone windowsill. Moving with infinite caution, using the stones as cover, I pulled myself up until I could just see over the edge of the window.

The heavy dark velvet curtains partially obscured my view of the sitting room, but the extra cover far exceeded the minor inconvenience, and I dared to lift myself a little higher. Warm firelight was flooding through the windows, banishing the sheltering shadows of night. But I knew that from my position at the base of the window I would be little more than a shade against the deeper shadows. My eyes narrowed as I adjusted to the well lit room behind the glass.

Through the frosted panes I could see the figures of Lord and Lady Briarwood in the center of the room, framed against the light of the fire, locked together in a close embrace. Lady Briarwood pulled back, Silas's arms sliding around his wife's waist. Her mouth formed words I couldn't hear, and as she spoke she brought a hand up to his face, brushing his cheek, then running her fingers through his hair. As she did Silas closed his eyes, head rolling under her hand, nuzzling his mouth against her wrist. Then Delilah withdrew her arm, breaking the momentary spell over her husband. She gently disentangled herself from Lord Briarwood's embrace, a little unwillingly I thought, and took a step back, her hand still absently hovering at his shoulder.

I couldn't see where the guards had been standing in the room, but one of them now appeared at the edge of my vision, roughly pulling the peasant forward. With a shove the man was forced onto his knees before the couple, and both moving with an almost eery synchronization turned towards him. The peasant had so far offered little resistance, but as Silas looked down at him all the tension drained from his shoulders and he relaxed, all the fear and apprehension fading from his eyes. He stared up into Silas's face, shoulders slack, arms hanging limp.

Moving with the gentleness of a poised snake, Silas reached out, touching the edge of the peasant's chin and lifting his head slightly. I felt a dose of chilling dread shoot through the pit of my stomach. I couldn't hear anything through the thick glass, but I could sense that something awful was about to happen.

Silas snarled, something bestial coming into his eyes. His hand shot out, shoving the guard away so roughly that he toppled to the floor. But by then Lord Briarwood had already forgotten him. Violently yanking the peasant's head to one side, Silas gripped the other arm around his victim's shoulders. There was a gleam of white fangs, then Lord Briarwood sank his teeth into the peasant's neck, followed by a gout of blood.

Silas sank almost to the floor with his victim, so caught up in his sickening feast that he could hardly keep his balance, and was bent almost double. Greed, ravenous craving, was in every coiled line of Silas's frame, as he continued to gorge himself. Lady Briarwood also dropped to the floor, kneeling by her husband as he crouched, and she ran her fingers affectionately through his hair. And she too glorried in his devouring, in another way, as if she were proud of her husband, and his insatiable desire. 

I felt a wave of cold nausea wash over me, my stomach giving a dangerous heave as I watched, and I dropped down beneath the window, unable to endure anymore. Another wave of disgust hit me, and I gripped my hand over my mouth, for a moment completely forgetting everything else but the effort to not throw up. I slumped back against the castle's smooth stone wall, trying to keep myself oriented, and felt prick of gratitude for the stone's chill. The extremity of the temperature helped me to balance myself. Gathering my resolve, I finally raised myself back up to the window, clinging to the edge of the window frame as if my life depended on it.

Looking within the sitting room, the bloodbath seemed to be over. Silas had released his victim, and had collapsed backwards into Lady Briarwood's lap, lying in a drunken daze, momentarily spent. She had her arms wrapped around him, smoothing out his forehead affectionately, and he stirred feebly in her arms, as if her caresses aroused an effort to return them. But Delilah only shushed him, the dark curtain of her hair obscuring their faces, as she wilted into him.

Lying close by on the sitting room carpet, completely forgotten, was the peasant. I could see two sickening holes in the side of his neck, almost exactly like a snake bite, but much larger and deadlier. Blood weakly spurted from the wound, draining the last few pumps of his heart into the carpet. It was clear that he was dead. I closed my eyes, and drew away, stumbling back towards the castle doors.

There was nothing more for me to see.


	9. An Adventure In Misdemeanor

I started awake, jerking up with a gasp, sleep violently torn away from me. My head throbbed, and my whole body felt uncomfortably heavy. I groaned, clumsily rubbing the sleep from my eyes, trying to gather enough of my wits to generate a coherent thought. Slowly my faculties returned to me, and I found myself at my dressing table. I had fallen asleep in the middle of writing a letter to Archibald, the papers crumpled, ink smeared across the letter, and strands of my hair in the inkwell. With another groan I ran my fingers through my hair, in an effort to return it to a state of order, lifting my eyes to look at my reflection in the mirror.

Gathering my thoughts, I began tiding up the scattered papers on my desk. Re-dipping my quill, I went back to writing my letter, feeling exhausted and yet too on edge to sleep. Because it was so smudged I had to copy my letter onto another piece of paper, painstakingly rewriting what I'd already composed, before I could even complete what I'd started. At last I signed my name, my letters large and rounded almost to the point of looking masculine, taking up a large portion of the last page. Then I threw my quill away, leaning back in my chair, and running my inky fingers through my hair again. Finally I took the letter and folded it, not taking the trouble to seal it, then tossed it down on the desk.

The castle was frigid when I finally came downstairs. Fires had been kindled in several of the rooms, but the hallways were completely unheated. It was so cold that I bundled up under my dress, wearing thick wool to keep me warm. Retrieving my letter from the dressing table, I tucked it into one of the many pockets I had hidden in my skirt, and quietly slipped out of my room.

The hallways were deserted, cold and completely silent, winter sunlight streaming in through the frosted windows. Moving quickly, I made my way to the front of the castle, descending the wide staircase, and crossing the hall. I seized two thick winter cloaks, donning one myself, and throwing the other over my arm. Tugging open the wide double doors, I stepped out into the winter cold. 

Nearly three feet of snow covered the ground, completely blanketing the courtyard, turning the castle into some kind of winter fairyland. It lay in deep drifts at the foot of the walls, where it had been shoved from the top of the rampart. Plowing through the drifts of snow was difficult work, and I had to use all my strength as I waded through it, pushing my way to the gate.

The man at the guardhouse was toasting a hunk of bread and cheese by the fire as I trudged up. He didn't have to ask what I was doing, he already knew, and he silently moved to open the gate for me, gnawing on his toasted bread as he did. I didn't thank him, but silently squeezed through, watching as he shut the gate behind me, still nursing his stale hunk of bread. 

The snow was deeply piled over the stonewall that stood at the edge of the road, and I didn't so much gracefully vault it as I did clumsily tumble over it. A few more steps, then I threw myself down in the soft blanket of snow, enjoying the refreshing cold against my scalp. Throwing my arms out spread eagle, I sat looking up at the heavy mass of gray clouds that blanketed the sky over my head. 

I loved cloudy days like this. The stillness over everything, with nothing to disturb it, not even the sound of falling snow. I just liked the winter in general. Probably a good thing, considering how long our winters were, and how short of an interval stood between them. Might as well enjoy them if they were going to hang around so much. But after watching the unmoving sky for a while, my body heat began to warm the snow, and cold water began to soak into the back of my hair and neck. I sat up, and amused myself with constructing trenches in the snow.

By the time Ivan came I was in the middle of creating a maze of packed down snow, and had moved slightly from where I had originally been sitting. I heard him whistling first, the shrill sound breaking the winter silence, and I glanced up as he came trudging up the road, leaving a plowed track in the snow. He walked over the stonewall, long legs sinking up to his knees in the soft snow piled over it. He gathered up a clumsy snowball, lobbing it at my head, but his aim went wide and the snowball passed over my shoulder, where it tumbled into the snow.

"That was the most horrible toss I've ever seen." I said, by way of a greeting, as he sank down in the snow beside me, and I handed him the extra winter cloak I had brought.

"I wasn't even trying hard." Ivan replied, pulling on my cloak. "And I don't know about you, but my mother taught me it was rude to hit girl."

"No, you've just got terrible aim," I said shaking my head. "You're a bad liar too."

"If you say so."

"How is the Father?" I asked, changing the subject as I tugged aside my cloak, retreving my letter for Archibald.

"All well." Quietly Ivan took my letter, tucking it into some hidden pocket of his coat. "What about you though?"

"I'm alright."

"You always say that..." Ivan muttered. "You look awful Cas."

"What do you want me to say?" I asked. "There's nothing to say."

"I don't know." He said, gathering a handful of snow. "I just wish that you'd..."

He broke off, shaking his head. Silent we sat in the cold, Ivan molding handfuls of snow into balls, while I absentmindedly picked at a loose thread of my cloak. Finally he tossed the snowball away, his frustration draining away with it, and when he spoke again his voice was gentle and almost pleading. "I'm just worried about you. This castle is draining you dry, you need to get away from it."

"Ivan I can't leave. They need me."

"That's not what I meant. Of course this is your home, the Briarwood's are your family now, you can't leave. I just think you should get away for a day. Enjoy the snow."

"Delilah told me I have to come inside as soon as I give my letters to you," I said, shaking my head emphatically. "I'm already gone more than she would like. I couldn't leave for a whole day, she would be angry, and I've already broken too many rules."

"Come on Cas, they don't even think about you most of the time." Ivan said persuasively, his words almost exactly echoing my own inner voice. "It's just one day."

Silence fell once more, and we sat quietly, Ivan building snowballs and tossing them, while I continued absently packing down snowy trenches. Deep in thought, I considered his proposition. Already I'd broken rules, and I still tasted the affects of it every day. Delilah kept a close watch on me, Anna was distantly contemptuous, while Professor Anders had become openly hostile to me. Perhaps he blamed me for his current fall from favor, but he certainly went out of his way to make me regret my disobedience. I got little more than blows from him these days.   
And Silas...I was hesitant to risk displeasing him. But the thought of freedom was tempting. How often did I look out from the castle windows at the snow-laden forests below me and wish I could be there?

"I really shouldn't be listen to you. The advice you give is always stupid."

"So you'll come then." Ivan said with a grin.

"I don't know why I'm doing it, but yes." 

"Good!" He said with a laugh. 

"But we've got to be smart about this, I can't just go walking off down the road, and expect to be unhindered." I cautioned, though I wasn't sure if Ivan was ready to listen yet, and I glanced up at the two guards patrolling the wall above us. "We've got to get away from them. I don't think that will be a problem for you, they see you coming up and down the road every day, nobody will care about you." 

"What are you going to do then?" Ivan said, sobering up a little, his eyes following mine as they gazed up. "The road is the only way to get off this hilltop, you said that yourself." 

"You and the Briarwoods both seem to forget, I grew up in this castle." I said, rolling my eyes. "My brothers and I spent our lives getting into trouble here, I know everything there is to know about this castle and the surrounding countryside. Most of the hilltop is flat, and its sides are sheer, but it does get lower in a few places. We used to climb down one of the low spots where the cliff is shelved. I can find a way down, don't worry about me."

"Alright." Ivan said slowly, a faint grin creeping across his face. "How will I find you then?"

"Start following the edge of the ridge east as soon as you reach low ground. The spot is pretty hard to miss when you reach it. Just wait a few minutes. I'm going to start now, but you wait a minute or two, then head off down the road. Perhaps they won't look for me until they see you leaving."

"Got it." Ivan said with a steady nod.

Quietly I stood next to Ivan, watching the two guards on their patrol, as they paced back and forth across the wall top, memorizing the amount of time it took them to complete the journey. I waited as one of them came nearer, pausing at the end of the wall, then turned and began to pace back. At once I set off, moving resolutely through the snow, and counting the seconds in my head. I followed the ground as it sloped gently downwards, until at last I dropped down on the ground, lying completely hidden by drifts of frozen snow.

Tense stillness followed as I once again counted out seconds in my head, visualizing the guard's return journey to the end of the wall. Silently I hoped that the track of footprints in the snow would pass his notice, at least more than my clearly defined figure would have. I reached the end of my time, but it took a moment before I had enough courage to raise myself out of the snow, not knowing if the guard had turned his back, or if he was still at the end of the wall suspiciously eyeing the telltale track of footprints. Perhaps I had miscounted the time...

I had not miscounted, and the guard had dutifully turned his back to me. Moving a little quicker now that I was farther from the wall, I continued my journey. At last the ground dropped steeply downward, a sharp slope ending in a drop off, and I crouched down, taking advantage of the shelter the land gave me. As I had told Ivan, the cliff face was less steep here, scored by deep groves that ran across it, and choked at its base by tumbled rocks and boulders. The cliff was also bowed outwards so that you could support yourself against the slope of the cliff, and if you chose your footing carefully you could find a way down the tumbled rocks and ledges.

It was a doubtful path, far less sure than the road, and not something you could safely scale quickly. Ludwig had broken his arm trying to climb down this cliff face. But as dubious as the way was, it was one I had dared many times, and I had long ago memorized the route. My only concern now was the snow which, although it would cushion a fall, would make finding sure footing much more difficult. Even so, there was nothing I could do but risk it, and I picked my way down.

The climb was difficult, as I had thought it would be, and somehow it seemed far longer than it ever had before. But I slowly negotiated a way, clinging with numbed fingers to the rocks and ledges, sometimes leaping across a gap, sometimes inching my way carefully downwards. Then one of my feet slid out from under me and I lost my balance, sliding down the last slope, unable to catch anything but handfuls of soft snow. My body impacted a narrow ledge, and I was pushed off in a shower of cold snow. There was half a second of dizzy weightlessness, then I sank up to my waist in a deep drift of snow, and before I could recover my feet a mini avalanche of powdery snow showered down on top of me. 

Completely buried in snow, I sat still, catching my breath. Struggling with the snow I managed to free my head and arms, then I went completely limp, head and arms exposed to the gray sky. I felt a bubble of laughter swell up in my throat, the spike of adrenaline beginning to dull, leaving me feeling giddy, and I let out a chuckle. Then began the strenuous process of pulling myself out of the snow, clawing feebly in the soft powder for a handhold. At last I freed myself, crawling my way out of the hole, and shaking the snow out of my clothes.

The two sheer sides of the hill towered over me, like a rough U shape, and I hiked through the deep drifts of snow piled at the cliff's feet, until I reached the mouth of the U. There I sat down in a deep drift, and for the second time that day, I waited for Ivan. It wasn't really that long of a wait. Ivan had farther to walk, but I had also taken a long time climbing down the hillside, so in the end I arrived at the chosen place only ten minutes before he did. He came crunching up through the snow, his long legs taking huge strides through the snow. 

"Come on." I commanded, rising to my feet as he came striding up. "Follow me."

"Where are we going?" He asked, following me as I crunched off through the snow, his longer legs easily keeping stride with mine. 

"You'll see." I called back over my shoulder. Ivan let out a grunt, but said no more, as we continued to push our way through the forest. 

The snow laden pine trees towered overhead, like huge misshapen giants. Complete silence filled the air, not a sound disturbing the wintery stillness but the crunch of our feet through the snow. And though the land looked different when buried under drifts of snow, I was never doubtful of the way. My siblings and I had come this way many times, both in winter and summer, and the destination of this journey was one we had often visited.

As we walked the ground began to slope upward, rising to meet the two outthrust knees of one of the Alabaster Sierras' lower peaks. Bluffs and low cliffs hemmed us into a sheltered gorge, filled with small Hemlocks and other Evergreens of similar kind. An energetic creek was tumbling down between the rocks and soft earthen banks, falling from some hidden spring high up within the mountain's impassable crown, and it chattered in the silence.

Up the valley between the cliffs we trudged, the mountain shadow looming over us, but at last we reached a sheltered dell of flat snow-covered ground, where the ground was walled in by tumbled rocky cliffs at the very base of the sierra's snow covered slopes. Here the stream came leaping down from the heights above, taking the path of least resistance down the cliff face, and fell down into the gorge.

"How did you know about this?" Ivan asked, as he struggled up the last slope of ground. "I never knew this was here."

"My brother Oliver found it, when he was exploring. We all used to come here when we were children." I said, looking up at the mountain overhead, catching my breath.

"You spent a lot of time together didn't you..." And Ivan's face which had been cheerful became sober and almost reverent as he spoke of my family.

"I guess." I said, a dull ache throbbing in my chest, and I suddenly wished I hadn't brought it up.

Ivan opened his mouth to speak, but then he observed my face, and he remained silent. Throwing his arms out, and collapsing back into the snow. After standing lost in thought for a moment, I dropped down beside him, looking out between the narrow cliffs over the valley below us.

"I'm exhausted." Ivan said with a groan, throwing an arm over his face, and changing the subject. "That climb completely took it out of me. I hope you're strong enough to carry me on the way back, because I don't know if I've got enough energy left to take another step."

"Dream on lazy bones." I said, tossing a handful of snow at him.

"What was that for?!" Ivan said, spluttering as he shook the snow from his face with a grin. 

"If you think I'm going carry your sorry ass down this mountain, then prepare to be disappointed." I declared, gathering up more snow, and packing it into a snowball. "You're too fat."

"Now that hurts my feelings..." Ivan said, grinning mischievously, and throwing a shower of snow at my face.

"It's the truth!" I said, laughing and getting to my feet to escape more snow.

Dancing back just out of reach, I lobbed my snowball at Ivan's head, bending down to gather up a fresh handful. Ivan warded off my attack with his arm, surging to his feet, gathering a snowball as he rose. He threw it at me, the aim much surer than his first snowball had been, and the snow crumbled against my shoulder.

"What ever happened to not hitting a girl?" I called out, tossing a hard packed snowball in retaliation.

"They say all's fair in love and war." Ivan said, then he leapt away across the snow to the other side of the creak, ducking his head as my snowball sailed past.

"So we're declaring war then." I said, gathering up three or four snowballs all at once.

"Yes!" Ivan shouted.

Snowballs filled the air for the next few minutes, and we chased each other over the flat snow, tirelessly giving and receiving blows with the greatest good humor. My hands were soon numb, and I rolled up my sleeves. We rained down volleys of snow on each other, then one of us would inevitably run out of ammunition, and the other would charge across the stream with their remaining supply of weaponry, mercilessly showering the other, while they desperately collected new snowballs.

Insults and catcalls rang through the cliffs and rocky bluffs that skirted the mountain's feet, drowning out the stream's chatter. The flat drifts of snow were soon pockmarked with foot prints, and holes where snowballs had fallen, both of us were absolutely covered in snow, and Ivan's face was bright red with the exercise. Casting the last snowball in my arsenal, I charged across the stretch of ground that stood between me and Ivan, while he rained his last supply at me, trying to ward me off. With a leap I shoved Ivan back into the snow, and crouched on his shoulder blades holding him face down. 

"Let me up!" He exclaimed, his voice muffled in the snow, and he struggled to shake me off. 

"Will you forfeit?" I growled, clinging to him like a leech. 

"Never." Planting his hands firmly in the snow, Ivan pushed himself up, lifting my weight as if I was no more than a feather.

With a cry I tumbled backwards into the snow, and before I could regain my feet Ivan gathered up a huge armful of snow and dropped it on me. Laughing with shock, and determined to get revenge, I seized a handful of snow, tossing it up into Ivan's face. Ivan's hand shot out, and before I could react he seized my arm, his fingers holding my wrist in an iron grip. 

"Where did you get that?" He asked, his face suddenly becoming hard. 

"Let go!" I laughed, and I playfully tried to shove him off, before I registered the look on his face.

"Cas," he growled. "Where did you get that?" 

I looked down at the arm that he had gripped in his hand. Wrapped around the soft skin between elbow and wrist was a dark purple bruise, the result of a short scuffle with Anders. The Professor had tried to strike me, and had briefly I fought back, but in the end he had pinned me. Twisting my arm so far behind my back, it almost dislocated my shoulder, his hand had gripped my arm so tightly it left a bruise. 

"It's nothing." I said, trying unsuccessfully to rip my arm from Ivan's grasp. 

"It was Anders wasn't it..." He said, easily resisting my futile attempt, and his face darkened dangerously. The last time I had seen him this angry was when I recounted the attack on the castle to him and Father Rynoll. He had looked vicious then, and he looked vicious now. 

"Get the fuck off me." I snarled, my own temper stirring, and I kicked him angrily, shoving him away from me.  
"Cas..."

"I don't need your pity!" I exclaimed, sitting up in the snow. "I don't need your help. There's nothing you can do, you, or Father Rynoll, so just stop asking. I'm alright." 

"That's not true." Ivan declared, the brief flash of anger fading into concern. "I don't pity you Cas. I hardly know anything about you, you never even talk about yourself! Every day you just say 'I'm alright,' as if you think I'm stone blind. Like I don't see the bruises on your arms, or the way you talk about Lord Briarwood like he's god, or how much you're shrinking the longer you're trapped inside that god forsaken castle. I'm not blind Cas."

"I love you Ivan, truly I do." I said tiredly, looking away, and gazing out towards the valley below us. "You're like my brother...But you can't help me, so why try?"

"I don't care." Ivan said, sitting down beside me, his voice soft and gentle. "Just talk to me, please..." 

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling hot tears prickling at the backs of my eyelids, his gentleness piercing my heart like his anger had been unable to do. 

"Why do you even care?" I sniffed, trying to keep myself together. "Its all just one giant clusterfuck anyway. I can't stand up for anyone, not even myself. Everyday I write to Archibald, pretending to be his friend, while all the time I'm just toying with him. I try to obey Silas, but every time I try another part of me wants to do the exact opposite. I want to protect my people, but Silas want's me to hurt them. I want to love Delilah, but it disgusts me when I try..." 

At that point my voice broke, and I found myself unable to go on. Sternly I tried to bring my emotions back under control, but at last a sob burst through my defenses, then another, and I screwed my palms into my eyes. I felt Ivan's hand touch my back, just a touch, but it broke my heart. 

"I miss my family." I sobbed, voice muffled through my arms. "But every time I think about them, I feel guilty, because I know Silas wouldn't want me to."

"What do you want?" Ivan whispered, pulling me into his side, and speaking in my ear. "What is the one thing you want more than anything else?"

It was so hard to say it, but there were no restraints left to hold me back. Ivan had complete control over me, and anything he could have asked me, I would have answered honestly. "I want to have a family again..." 

"Then you find your family." Ivan said, squeezing my shoulder, speaking with a firmness that rang in my ears like an inexorable command that I had to obey. "And you protect them with every bone in your body. With your blood, and sweat, and tears. You sacrifice anything, and everything for them, and you never give them up no matter the consequences. Under stand? You find what you want, and you pursue it, to the very end." 

Every whispered word burned through my skin with a searing heat, so that I thought I would never be free of the pain of it. I could feel his command piercing my heart, every syllable carved into my flesh. I would obey him. Had to obey him, for his commandment was burned into me. And as I heard his decree, as I embraced it with every fiber of my being, I felt peace. Everything would give way to his words, had to give way, for his order was the one thing I trusted to guide me. 

"I will." I said simply.


	10. Rise of the Second Rebellion

_"Get your sword."_ His words echoed in my head, hissing in my ear like a frigid wind. _"The wonder is, after all the trouble you've been, you still might actually turn out to be useful for something at last...You've got that little toothpick of yours tucked away somewhere, don't you? I want you to get it, and come back to me. Quickly you hear?"_

I dropped to my knees at the edge of my bed, throwing the covers back, and lithely slid underneath. The stone of the floor felt cool, refreshingly so. It's smooth surface pressed against the soft skin of my hands, as I slid through the cool blackness that lurked beneath my bed. No dust had gathered on the stones of floor, for I often crawled underneath my bed, and none had been able to settle.

Pushed into the far back corner, away from easy reach, where the shadows congregated most thickly, was a tangled bundle of velvet. It was cut out of one of my old dresses that was now too small to fit me, a dark burgundy color that almost seemed to melt into the surrounding shadows. But as I reached out and pulled it toward me it was heavier than a bundle of fabric, and more than just fabric bumped together inside.

Quickly I slithered backwards, emerging from under the bed with the bundle I had retrieved. Carefully wrapped inside were several of my most precious objects, who's location I desired to conceal, and I handled them reverently as I laid them out on the bed one by one. The longest and most unwieldy object was Traitor, lying cold and unused in it's sheath, with it's sturdy leather belt wrapped close around it. This I laid aside, not bothering to check the sharpness of the blade, for I knew it would be sharp enough. Lying under Traitor was a small bundle of plain clothes, easy to wear with comfort. High waisted trousers, one of my old fencing shirts, and a pair soft soled knee high leather boots, good for when you wanted to walk a little gingerly. Wrapped up in the baggy shirt was the small (almost dainty) dagger that Ivan had given me in it's own sheath, and I carefully laid it beside Traitor on the bed.

But most treasured possession of all, carefully tucked and folded at the bottom of the bag, smelling faintly of dust: a worn set of simple leather armor. The armor my mother had trained in, when she was young. For months I hadn't dared to take it, afraid that someone would notice it's absence, but now I had it hidden safe under my bed, exactly where it should be. It was worn but hardened, well used, and well maintained. The spicy odor of old leather clung to it, and it smelled like Mother would smell: sharp and biting. 

It was the smell of war. The smell of war was in everything today. The air had been thick with it all morning; when I rose from sleep, when I dressed, when I went down to breakfast. It hung like a heavy veil over the dinning room table, lurking like a low mist among the plates and dishes, and shrouding the dimly guttering candles.

We had risen in the black hour before dawn, and the candles were the only source of light. Everyone was awake, and present at the table, even though it was a much earlier hour than everyone's usual time for rising. I had been placed next to Lady Briarwood, who sat toying with her meal, lost in thought. Silas had also risen to eat with us, though he usually didn't rise until after the sun had gone down. Anders was sitting at a distance looking sullen, and Ripley contentedly ate as if there was absolutely nothing different about this particular meal. But none of us felt much like talking, and the morning meal was eaten in deep silence.

"Perhaps you should begin your preparation my love." Silas said to his wife, shattering the fragile stillness, and pulling her from her reverie. "You have quite a bit to do, and it will take some hours to complete..."

"Yes," Lady Briarwood said, as if she had just been shaken from sleep. "Yes of course darling."

Quietly she rose, still lost in abstraction, and left the room, followed by several of the undead attendants. We watched her go, eyes following her until she closed the door behind her; all except Anna who still daintily managed her knife and fork, and didn't seem to mark her exit. As soon as she was gone Professor Anders looked expectantly at Lord Briarwood.

"Shall I take Cassandra back to her room for you sire?"

"No, no." Silas said, speaking of me as openly as if I wasn't in the room, "I'll be wanting her in a moment. Anna?"

"Yes?" Ripley said, looking up from her plate, and either forgetting, or intentionally leaving out the 'my lord.'"

"I have a busy day ahead of me, there is some interesting business to attend to outside the castle wall, and I think you might be particularly suited to it..." Silas said. "If you have anything in your room of an explosive nature, would you be so kind as to fetch it, and meet me out in the garden?"

"Of course..." Anna said, almost reluctantly, clearly signifying that she would have liked to finish her meal undisturbed. But she left her plate, and exited the room.

"Quite finished?" Silas demanded, looking at me sternly.

As his tone heavily implied that I should be, I nodded, pushing my plate away, and wiping my lips on my napkin.

"Then come with me."

Lord Briarwood shoved back his chair, striding quickly from the room, and I leapt to my feet to follow him. He moved quite purposefully, forcing me to almost run in an effort to keep up with him, but he paid me no attention as we walked. Flung back over one broad shoulder was a fine dark green cloak, and it billowed behind him as he moved, giving him a regal, almost kingly, appearance. Footsteps echoing in the silence, we crossed the wide foyer. Silas planted both his hands against the castle's double doors, and with hardly any effort, flung them both wide open, as if the aged wood weighed nothing. Skipping down the flagged stone steps, I quickly followed him as he strode out into the castle courtyard.

The sun had not yet lifted over the Alabaster Sierra's towering white peaks, but light filtered over them into the valley. Clearly the sun was just rising over the earth's horizon, even though it was not yet visible over the mountains. It was not much light, only enough to provide an early morning gray, but I saw Silas hunch his shoulders against it. He did it very subtly, but I still noticed the slight change.

At the the foot of the castle wall on the eastern side Lord Briarwood stopped, and turned to face me. Towering directly overhead, gleaming pale in the gray light, was the east tower, one of Castle Whitestone's small watchtowers. Apprehensively I looked up at it's crown where, like so many places in this castle, I had loved to play so long ago.

"I want you to go up to the top of the tower, and wait upon my wife." Silas said, then his face became stern as he added, "You must not, under any circumstances, allow someone to disturb her. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." And he unceremoniously shoved me up the wall's steps.

I stumbled over the bottom step, falling to my knees on the stairs, but Lord Briarwood had already turned away, walking swiftly back towards the castle. Recovering myself, I mounted the steps, catching up my skirt and scaling them two at a time, as was my habit. Moving along the top of the wall, running my hand absentmindedly along the top of the rampart, I reached the base of the east tower. The entrance stood at the wall's very corner, a small wooden door leading into the tower's round interior, and I pushed through it.

I had always loved climbing up and down the steps of this tower. It was the narrowest of the castle's watchtowers, and mounting to its top always felt climbing the slope of a giant corkscrew. Still climbing two at a time, I skipped up the tower steps, at last pushing up a trapdoor that led to the tower's top.

Up here the wind, which had only been a gentle breeze down in the courtyard, was much stronger, flowing down from the Sierra's peaks like a wave. I shivered slightly against the chill, settling my resolve to the cold. It was unpleasant, but there was nothing I could do but accept it, something that long years in this chilly landscape had taught me.

Silent in the center of the tower's round top, lost in deep concentration, was Lady Briarwood. Sitting crouched on her knees, shoulders stiff, hands splayed out on the flat stones, hair hanging loose about her face. In front of her was a dark black crystal, its round surface dark and featureless, un-illuminated by the growing light of day, and as she sat, her eyes stared blindly into its depths. Lying across her lap, half hidden by her loose dark hair, was a long jagged knife, crafted from dark green crystal.

I paused with the trapdoor in my hand, afraid that if I moved I would disturb her, but she made no move, and I wasn't sure she had even noticed my presence. Quietly I dropped the trapdoor, and Delilah sat inert, so still she might have been carved out of the castle's stones herself. Reassured, I crossed the tower's top, turning my back to Lady Briarwood, and leaning on the battlement.

Empty void gaped beneath me, and I felt my stomach heave just looking down. The ridge top on this side of the castle was sheer, the castle's wall constructed on the cliffside's very edge, so that even from the top of the wall it was a very deep drop. With the tower's additional hight, it was dizzying. I pulled back from the edge, and turned around, sliding down to a sitting position with my back against the battlement. For a moment I struggled with my cloak, pulling it closer around me, then I became lost in staring at Delilah, as absorbed in watching her as she was in watching the dark crystal. Time was lost on me, and we could have sat like that for hours or mere moments, and it would have felt the same to me.

But at last my concentration was broken by the sound of the trapdoor being lifted. Remembering Lord Briarwood's order to keep his wife undisturbed, I hastily rose to my feet, crossing the tower top at a half run. Professor Anders was just pushing the trapdoor back when I reached him, and I seized its edge, preventing him from lifting it farther. Cautioning him with a finger, I slipped through the narrow gap, and gently lowered the door back down. Anders watched all this with a scowl, and his face darkened as I turned to look at him.

"What do you think you're doing?" He demanded angrily.

"I can't let you see her." I said, bowing my head slightly, and speaking submissively. "Lord Briarwood instructed me to keep her completely undisturbed."

"Get out of my way." Anders said, trying to brush me aside and push up the stairs.

I felt a flash of anger run through me at the gesture. Silas himself had told me to guard Lady Briarwood, and I was determined to obey him. I flung the Professor backwards with all my might, shoving him back down the stairs, and crouching protectively between him and the door. For a moment we both crouched angrily, sizing each other up, caught in a tense stalemate.

"No matter." The Professor said at last, straitening and brushing himself off. "I only wanted to give her this, but you can do that for me, I suppose."

With a swift movement of his arm, he threw a canvas bag at me. It was such a savage throw, I only just managed to catch it, seizing it with both hands. Something inside the bag squirmed, startling me. Before I could fully recover my balance, Anders gripped a jagged handful of my hair, pulling me so close to him I could feel his breath across my face as he spoke.

"I won't forget this, you little witch."

"I won't either." I growled, shoving the bag into his face, and forcing myself free.

For a moment I could see deep hatred flash in his eyes, and I prepared myself to receive his retaliation, but he made no move. And at last, after a long moment, he silently turned and retreated down the stairs, leaving me alone. Half afraid he was going to come back, I waited for a moment, catching my breath. But he didn't return, and I looked back down at the bag in my hand. Hesitantly I opened it, peering down inside.

Sitting hunched at the bottom of the bag, sides heaving, with its ears laid back, was a small fat rabbit. The poor thing looked very frightened, and I knew better than to touch it, or it would probably bite me. Instead I closed the bag again, trying to move it as little as possible. Moving slowly I retreated back up the stairs, quietly lifting the trapdoor, and slipping back through the gap.

Lady Briarwood was still sitting in the exact same position she had been before, still staring blindly at the black crystal in front of her. The wind rushed over the stones, blowing in her hair, and though she was completely oblivious to it, I could see that she was shivering. It was cold even for me, and I had lived here all my life.

"My Lady," I said softly, hesitantly approaching her, and holding out the canvas bag. She made no move when I spoke, and after a moment I circled in front of her, kneeling down and speaking to her face. "My Lady?"

At last she stirred, as if she had been asleep, and her eyes unwillingly broke away from the stone to look up at me. For a moment she stared at me blankly, without the slightest sign of recognition, and I could see in her eyes that for a brief moment she had no idea who I was. Then realization glimmered in her eyes, and the faintest traces of a warm smile crossed her face.

"Cassandra..."

"Professor Anders wanted to speak to you, but I wouldn't let him up, and he told me to give you this. It's a rabbit." I held up the canvas bag for her to see, and her eyes drifted down to look at it.

Slowly she took the bag from my hands, opening it, and looking down at its contents as I had done. A strange smile lit up her face, so dark that it was almost fierce, very different than the one that she had given me, and she murmured exultantly under her breath. I didn't recognize the tongue she used, but it sounded foul. The words had a lilting resonance, that warped her voice with their elegant darkness, and I shivered at the hideous change.

She pushed the bag back into my hands, still chanting under her breath. Lying concealed in her lap, next to the knife, was a small leather pouch, and she opened it, emptying its contents into her lap. Inside were two pieces of hardened charcoal, and as she drew them out she tossed aside the bag, rising to her feet. Her whole body seemed to have come alive, and she moved with a lithe, almost unnatural grace, tracing a giant circle across the tower top.

As if she were following the intricate steps of a ritualistic dance, she glided across the stones, her fingers tracing out shapes with the charcoal. She was still chanting, her voice much more forceful now. There was a strange harmony to the words, a veiled power behind her voice, and some primal part of me knew, without being able to explain how I knew it, that these were not her words. There was a dark Other to this voice.

The rabbit suddenly began violently kicking inside the bag, struggling with desperate fierceness to escape my grip, and I clutched it to my chest. Trying to be firm but gentle, I squeezed it until it was forced to lie still. I could feel the warmth of its body through the material of the bag, its sides still heaving under my firm grip, clearly terrified. Clutching the rabbit protectively, I pulled back from Delilah, retreating outside the circle she had drawn. I sank into a ball at the base of the tower battlement, shushing the rabbit, trying in vain to comfort the poor thing. The ceaseless rhythm of Lady Briarwood's chanting was spellbinding, and both the rabbit and I sat frozen under her words.

Suddenly the endless chanting came to an end, leaving ringing silence in its wake, and slowly Delilah straightened, flinging the charcoal away with a convulsive movement of her arm. She was breathing heavily, standing half bowed, hands shaking, her windblown hair hiding her face. I shivered under the weight of the silence, looking from Lady Briarwood's shrunken form to the circle she had been drawing.

It was savagely traced by a heavy hand: a giant outer circle, encompassing several smaller ritual circles. Each of the smaller circles were lined on the inside with text in some language I couldn't read, and there were four larger glyphs that I could recognize as being drawn from arcane ritual magic. Though I could not, based on my very slight understanding of the magical arts, place what they were used for. And sitting in the perfect center of it all, the focus point of the entire ritual, still dark and totally featureless, was the crystal orb.

"Cassandra," Delilah said quietly, her voice like cold frosted steel. "Bring me the rabbit, if you please."

I rose to my feet, approaching her shrinkingly with the rabbit clutched tightly against my chest. The creature began to shift nervously as soon as I moved, growing more agitated the closer I drew to Lady Briarwood. As soon as I crossed the edge of the ritual circle the rabbit began to struggle fiercely, and I had to hold it almost cruelly, to keep it from worming its way out of my arms. I paused, hesitating, feeling almost protective of the small frightened bundle.

"Give me. The rabbit. My dear." Lady Briarwood commanded, and though her voice was not raised, there was a silent force to it that made me shudder.

Too frightened to disobey, I relaxed my hold. I couldn't bring myself to let go of it, but the slight release was all Lady Briarwood needed. Her hand reached out, firmly seizing the rabbit, and she pulled it away from me. The creature squealed as soon as she touched it, thrashing desperately as she wrenched it out of the bag, and I flinched at the horrible sound, shrinking back.

Moving slowly, rhythmically chanting again in that Other voice, Delilah knelt down in front of the dark crystal, within one of the small ritual circles, still holding the struggling rabbit. Forcing the rabbit onto its back on the ground, she seized the jagged green knife that had been lying in her lap, and was now resting cold on the stones. With one swift savage movement she drove the point of the blade into the rabbit's chest, dragging the knife down with one white knuckled hand, cutting its chest open.

The rabbit let out a thin tearing scream, kicking it's feet, and I let out a gasp of pain, feeling hot tears blur my vision. I dropped to my knees, my chest throbbing with pity for the poor thing. Pain stabbed through my ribcage where those three arrows had pierced me, that miserable night when Cassandra had bled to death in the snow, and I could almost feel the rabbit's pain, intertwined with my own. Blood gushed from the rabbit's violently opened chest cavity, defiling the tower stones, the entrails and other vital organs spilling out in a stinking mass. After a moment the poor thing stopped struggling, going limp and lifeless in Lady Briarwood's grip, and aching silence fell.

Laying down the knife, Delilah smeared two of her fingers with the rabbit's blood, the red stain of it contrasting sharply with the paleness of her slender fingers. Slowly, her breathing deafening in the stillness, she drew a final circle of blood around the crystal with her smeared fingers. This final task done, she rose to her feet, still grasping the crystal dagger in one hand. There was a flash of white light, and all the blood burned away from the knife and her hands, leaving her skin spotlessly clean.

"Come to me, my dear." She said very softly, that magnetic gentleness of her voice drawing me to her, the windblown curtain of her hair obscuring her face from me. As on the day she had taught me piano, she held out her hand to me.

I was quicker to come this time, eager to be near her, and without hesitation I took her offered hand.

"You are so kind, my dear...So willing, so eager, to give your kindness away..." She drew me closer to her as she spoke, a thoughtful smile hovering about her mouth, stroking my hand, and turning it over to run her fingers across my palm. But after the words a shadow crossed her face, and when she spoke again her eyes were almost sad. She was teaching me a hard truth, one that would hurt, yet I had to learn it anyway.

"Every victory has its price, and all debts must be paid. Keep your heart my love, but know that for every gift of power, there will be a sacrifice, and someone, like the rabbit, will have to pay it."

"Yes my lady." I murmured obediently.

"There will always be a price." She mused over my hand, then she lifted her head, her voice growing stronger. "But you will have great power, should you choose to bear the pain. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the reward. Understand?"

"I understand."

"Good girl." She said, smiling again, and she gave my hand a comforting pat.

Her fingers moved up to my wrist, wrapping around my arm with a thin clinging grip, her fingers bitingly cold. Still moving slowly, without looking at me, she drew out my arm, and laid the edge of of the crystal dagger over my skin. I flinched back nervously, afraid of what she was going to do.

"Stay still." Lady Briarwood commanded firmly, keeping a grip on my arm. "This will hurt a little, but it is a small sacrifice, and it will not hurt long."

Before I had time to say anything in return, she drew the blade swiftly across my arm, slicing a thin shallow cut into my skin. I let out a gasp as the stinging pain hit me, convulsively clenching my fist. Blood welled from the wound, spilling over, and trickling down the sides of my outstretched arm. Lady Briarwood held my arm over the dark orb. My blood, thick and dark dark red, dripped down onto its featureless surface, looking even more vividly colored against the dull background. Delilah let out an involuntary hiss, closing her eyes, and a shudder either of intense pain, or intense pleasure, rippled through her. I stood still, my blood dripping down my arm, and spattering over the crystal. After a moment Lady Briarwood opened her eyes again, her face a cold mask, and she released my arm. Quietly she knelt down in front of the blood covered orb, sinking back into the same position she had been in when I had arrived.

She began to chant again.

As soon as she began to speak I felt my stomach flip. The air was oppressively hot, or I was ice cold, and it was so heavy I could hardly breath. Delilah's voice had a new unholy resonance that hadn't been present before. Every word she spoke reverberated through the stones, through the air, through everything that stood within the giant circle she had drawn. This whole ritual circle was one giant focus, and anything within that perimeter was affected by its power.

Hardly able to breathe, trying only to escape this torture, I shied away from Delilah, utterly terrified of her new omnipotents. Overcome by the ringing power of the ritual, I dropped to my knees, unable to stand without feeling giddy. Nothing could have forced me to move except the knowledge that escape lay beyond the perimeter of the charcoal circle Lady Briarwood had drawn.

I blindly crawled in that direction. Dragging myself weakly over the edge of the circle, I sucked in a jagged gasp of free air, and collapsed on the stones of the tower, glorying in the sharp chill of the air. Released from the ritual's influence I stretched out on my back, simply breathing.

***

 _"Get your sword..."_ Silas's voice commanded in my mind, recalling me back to reality, standing frozen with Mother's armor in my hands. _"You've still got that toothpick of yours tucked away somewhere, don't you? I want you to get it, and come back to me. Quickly you hear?"_

I gave myself a shake, pushing those events from my mind. That had been hours ago. Several long slow hours in which Delilah had done nothing but chant unceasingly, and the gray morning had faded away into the shadows of a long gray afternoon. But time was pressing, and there were other things to think about.

Briskly I changed into the functional clothes within my pack, pulling on the boots, strapping Traitor around my waist, and fixing the dagger to my belt. This done, I carefully replaced Mother's armor back in the bundle, and slid back under the bed to deposit it in the corner. Safe and out of sight, exactly where it should be. I pulled the blanket down, hiding the space under my bed, and pushed out of the room, jogging down the hallway towards the foyer.

Silas was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, and seized my wrist as soon as I reached him. Moving quickly, without speaking, he dragged me towards the back of the castle. I felt my stomach drop as we stepped into the main hall of the servant's wing, moving resolutely towards its end, and when we stopped at the top of the stairs that led down into the dungeons I glanced at Lord Briarwood apprehensively.

"This is simple." Silas said, taking me by the arms and speaking to my face. I cast my eyes downwards as he spoke, unable to look him in the eye. "You told my wife that a band of your rebel compatriots would be on its way from the city, and they'd sneak into the castle through this entrance. Yes?"

I nodded silently, not sure I could have forced my voice to verbally answer him.

"Good. Then allI want you to do, is get them all well inside the tunnel, without them suspecting any danger, and we'll do the rest."  
   

I tried to pull away, but as usual Lord Briarwood was far stronger than me, and he kept a firm grip on my arms, regarding me calculatingly. He was measuring me in his mind, deciding the exact total of my worth, and I shivered as he examined me.

"You're a liar Cassandra."

Silas said it so gently, his face almost pitying, as if it was a regrettable truth that could never be changed. An incurable bad habit that he was forced to make the best of. And did it hurt to hear his words? It was a sharp bitter pain that scorched me to the core, that made me writhe inwardly when I heard it.

"We both know that, you and I." He said, in the same, make-the-best-of-it tone. "But those men out there, foolish as they are, they trust you anyway. And that is something that you can use to your advantage. I'm choosing to give you this one chance. A chance to redeem yourself, to efface the past, to repair your broken confidence, and prove yourself in my eyes. I want to put faith in you, show me that you are worthy of it."

I nodded silently, eyes downcast, and stood shoulders hunched waiting to be dismissed. Silas smiled, tilting my head up until my eyes met his, and he laid his hands on my shoulders.

"Now tell me." He said, as if he were my teacher, asking me to review a lesson "What would you do, to protect me and my wife?"

"I would do anything, sir." I said simply, and I didn't need to say anything other than that, for it was true. It was a truth that defined me. Silas and Delilah were my family, I would do whatever it took to keep them safe, even if it meant fighting for them to the bitter end.

"That's right." Lord Briarwood answered. "I ask no more of you than that."

He gave my shoulders a last squeeze, gently turning me to face down towards the dungeon, giving me a gentle push forwards.

"Prove your faith." He said, as his hands released my shoulders.

Moving now out of my own volition, I descended the stairs, slowly, and running my hand cautiously across the stonework. The walls felt cold and and almost wet against my fingertips, the fine gaps between the stonework little more than a whisper against my hand. As I descended downwards, the air grew colder, taking on the clammy chill of being underground, and it was pleasantly cold. For a short space light filtered down the stairs from the hallway above, then it curved left, and the light was cut off.

In the dim light I continued down, only vaguely able to make out the steps before me, then the stair took another turn, leaving me in complete darkness. This time I had to rely on touch alone, and I hugged close to the wall, running my hand along the smooth stonework. At last, after another short descent, I felt the stair ahead of me curve a final time, and I followed the bend. Spilling around the corner I could see flickering torchlight, and as I stepped out into it I was able to make out the last stretch of stair, then smooth stone floor where the descent came to an end.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I found myself in the same low dungeon where Percy had been imprisoned all those years ago. The cells opening in front of me, the hallway to the left, and the second room full of cells, even the same torch flickering in a steel ring on the wall. It was a place full of memories. They whispered in the walls, every shadow held its phantoms, and as I looked in the cells there was a veiled pile of bodies in every one.

When I reached the back of the dungeon, I scrambled over the piled boxes and crates that hid the tunnel's entrance, and dropped down next to the whitestone statue that barred entry. It was in the exact same place it had been resting before, with a dark gap just wide enough to squeeze through. Gracefully I slipped through the gap, hugging my legs up close to my chest, and supporting myself with my arms. It felt like those games years ago, when I was only a child playing hide and seek, and I could still manage to squeeze myself into the most godforsaken places.

On the other side of the statue I dropped down into a low crouch, hands splayed on the ground. I was totally blind, sitting coiled in the dark, listening for the slightest sound with my head bowed. Only velvety silence greeted me, and my shoulders relaxed. Carefully I made my way downwards, staying low to the ground, and slinking along like a wary animal.

The journey downwards felt like an age. Moving in complete darkness, with nothing to mark the time. The smell of cool dry earth hung in my nose, and the dirt floor of the tunnel felt pleasantly cool, fine silky dirt brushing against my hands. Impenetrable darkness blanketed the air, pressing against my eyes like a blindfold, and as I moved it almost felt like I was passing through something solid, like the air was filled with a kind of insubstantial water.

Any light, even half light, was blinding after such darkness, and as I rounded the last curve of the tunnel I blinked, stepping out into it. Faint illumination was spilling through the bushes that obscured the tunnel entrance, providing enough light to see by, and as I looked around I could make out faint objects around me. The stone walls were smooth, half remembered footprints smeared in the loose earth of the tunnel, and the bushes at the tunnel's entrance looked almost black against the light.

It was a dreary day, heavy dark storm clouds blanketing the sky, and as I stepped out of the tunnel and looked up, it was impossible to make out where the sun was through their mass. Snow lay in piles over the ground, the trees looking dark and threatening against the pureness of the color. A strong wind was blowing, shaking the snowy mantles from the tree's branches, and the clouds overhead swirled darkly. There would be a storm tonight.

Early evening shadows were beginning to close in, by the time I sensed any change. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled instinctively, and looking up I saw the dark shapes of men, slinking toward the tunnel entrance. I stood up, raising a hand in greeting, and one of the shapes broke off from the rest, raising their hand as they came.

He was an impressively tall man, with dark green hooded eyes, scruffy day old stubble on a strongly defined jaw, and unkempt greasy brown hair that fell past his shoulders. Most of his finer features were obscured by the shadows of a deep hood pulled up over his head, and his gear was muffled by a long thick dusty green cloak, but even through the cloak I could make out the shape of a longsword strapped to his belt. All of his gear looked rough, and he himself looked weathered.

"Greetings." I said as he reached me.

"Greetings." He answered grimly, giving me a sober nod of recognition. Though we had never met before, I could tell that he already knew who I was: after all I was Cassandra de Rolo the last of my bloodline, he couldn't avoid knowing me at least by name.

"Are these all your men?" I said as the others came creeping out of the forest to join us.

They were far from being an army, but most of them seemed to have decent gear, if not better than their leader's, and they all had good weapons. Most of them were men, of varying hight and respectability, but among them I could pick out the slimmer build of two women. Probably they were sisters, for they were both similar to each other, and both had Shortbows.

"These are all we could gather." The leader said. "All the best fighters we could muster. We're few but fearsome, it will be enough. Geru is my name."

"I must admit, I had hoped for more..." I said soberly, shaking the hand he silently offered me.

"We were the best to be found."

"And the bravest I hope? You'll need a sturdy pair of legs, to face what's waiting for us up there."

"All of us here have done our fair share, fought out battles, and proved our hardy hood. It's no joke, living the way some of us have lived. If sturdy men is what you ask for, than you'll find no better men than these--saving those two of course--" Geru said with a dark smile, and a nod at the two women.

"Good." I replied with an easy smile of my own. "The best is what I need."

It was frightening how natural I found it to converse with him. How quickly I slipped into my role, played my part, and pulled the blindfold over his eyes. Here I was, standing in the midst of my family's enemies, and yet none of them sensed something wrong. I was far too good at this.

"Quickly, we must move now." I said, beckoning the others, and moving towards the tunnel entrance. "I've been watching the signs all day, and there's some devilry at work with Lady Briarwood, up in the east tower."

The men silently passed me, pushing into the darkness of the tunnel, and I followed last. At the entrance I paused, looking back over the empty woodlands. Lord Briarwood said to lead them inside, and he would take care of the rest, but the trees were empty, and there was no sixth sense warning me of danger. Geru kindled one small torch, and carried it in front, leading the others up the darkened pathway. Quietly I retreated after them, moving stealthily, with my hand to the wall, taking advantage of the shadows at the back of the group. I felt safer in the shelter of the darkness, made deeper by the contrasting torchlight.

Then, in the silence, a deep, echoing, familiar explosion trembled in the stones overhead, and I froze, knowing exactly what had made the sound. Ripley had set off such explosions in the garden more times than I could remember, and this was exactly the same. The sound of falling rock, like a miniature avalanche, rumbled in the passage behind us, earth shuddered, dust drifted down from the ceiling.

"What was that?" One of the men whispered warily.

Geru pushed through then men to the back of the group, holding out the torch into the darkness behind us.

"I can't feel the air moving anymore." One of the two women said, voice heavy with apprehension, and she tilted her head to the side, as if she were listening to something the rest of us couldn't hear. "The flow at the end of the tunnel's been blocked..."

"I don't like this." Geru muttered, his eyes glinting dangerously, and he took a step away from the rest.

A shout of alarm at the front of the group broke the tense stillness, followed by the unmistakable cry of a dying man. 

"Geru!" A voice shouted urgently, and the ringing clash of swords filled the passage.

Dark shadows were leaping out of the blackness, and the pressing voice was overwhelmed. Geru ripped his sword from its sheath, a ringing sound filling the tunnel as he did, and he charged back up the slope of the tunnel. The shadows writhed with the half formed shapes of men, struggling desperately, and I slithered into the fray, dancing to the front of the group.

"Come on!" I shouted over my shoulder, dodging under the heavy mace of a half formed assailant. "We can't stay here, follow me to the courtyard."

With the desperation of trapped animals, the men pushed forward, forcing through the ambush, and pouring out of the tunnel into the dungeon. It was utter chaos, and it the confusion I could only keep track of Geru, his lanky figure standing out among the rest. Together we pushed forward, struggling through the thickest of the fray and heading for the dungeon stairs. It was much easier to see in the servants wing, and as soon as we reached the top of the stairs, the ragged men left broke into a dead sprint. Desperate to to reach the courtyard and open air.

By this time it was no longer a fight, but clearly a retreat, and nobody paused long enough to exchange blows. Dull sounds of shouting reached me through the thick stone walls of the castle. The servant's wing was completely deserted, the living corpses that guarded the halls, or stupidly followed one monotonous order, had all abandoned their posts. Nobody molested our escape.

I pushed through one of the doors into the kitchens, dodging around the tables and places for preparing food. Through a door at the far end of the room I knew there was a side door that communicated with the dinning room, and after the dinning room the only thing that stood between us and the courtyard was the spacious foyer where I had first met Silas and Delilah all those years ago.   
    The sounds of distant conflict grew much more distinct as I shouldered through the small back door, bursting into the empty dining room, vaulting the corner of the table. Long windows of thick glass stood at one end of the hall, and through them I could see the wild motion of battle in the courtyard.

"Where now?" One of the men asked as we reached the foyer, and burst through the double doors of the dining room, stumbling onto the wide open floor. As soon as we entered the foyer, and overwhelming wave of noise and confusion washed over us. Sound was pouring in through the double doors into the castle, which had been flung back, and through them I could see out into the castle courtyard.

The castle gates had been torn from their hinges, the splintered wood, torn, burned, and scored with the grooves of blades. Guards peppered the wall tops, raining arrows down into the courtyard, and more battled on the stairs trying to hold the tide of enemies back from the wall. Through the broken twisted wreckage of the gate, reckless men were flooding in, brandishing axes, sharpened pitch forks, and any other makeshift weapons they had. Clearly these men were not as well equipped as Geru's had been, and many of them were totally unarmored. Nothing more than simple peasants fighting for their lives, with the little they had. A stiflingly hot wind was blowing, flooding through the doors of the castle, ripping at hair and clothes, howling over the stones. Through all the confusion I could just barely make out the sky, which was overcast with roiling black clouds, and the darkness of the weather, combined with the deepening shadows of evening, made it almost oppressively dark.

Strangely enough the castle's front hall was completely empty, and nobody followed us through the door we had entered. It was as if the chase had suddenly been completely abandoned. We all braced ourselves, waiting to meet our pursuers, and when nobody came Geru and I glanced at each other. Neither of us had any idea what was going on. Silas had instructed me to trick the men, and I had done as I was commanded. Instinct told me to stay close to Geru and the others, and I couldn't decide if I was trying to protect them or not. But even if I wanted to help them, there was nothing I could do, for I had no idea what Lord Briarwood might be planning.

"Everybody stick together..." Geru commanded, setting himself back to back with me.

"You couldn't have chosen a better time to appear, my friends. " A suave voice echoed out, filling the entire hall, and a shiver of pleasure rippled over me in response. "Everything is ready for you..." Silas was standing at the top of the grand staircase, smiling down at us. His cloak was thrown back, revealing a wine red waistcoat, and I could see the hilt of his sword behind his right shoulder. All the men looked up at him, Geru next to me gripping his sword more tightly.

With one slow elegant movement Lord Briarwood drew his blade, its surface dully catching the light, and dark smoke swirled from the hilt. I felt the same thrill of fear run over me as my eyes ran down the impossibly long blade, and I recoiled from the memory of the last time I had seen it. The long scar across my chest throbbed with remembered pain. He set the point in front of him on the carpet, and black smoke lazily spilled downwards, drifting towards the ground like a thick mist, and began to creep down the staircase.

"However, as much as I've enjoyed your unwanted little visit, I have other more important things to attend to than a skulking band of thieves who break into my basement." Silas said, and his voice, which had been welcoming, hardened. "I've arranged proper entertainment for you..."

A drop of water hit my arm, and I looked down at it, smearing it away with my finger. It was more slimy than water, spreading a thick sheen of clear liquid over my skin. I looked up to see where it had come from, and froze, petrified.

Clinging to the ceiling, impossibly, horribly, grinning down at us, were human beings. They looked so totally wrong, the way they were clinging to the roof like twisted spiders, their splayed arms and legs clinging for purchase. Every one of them had a beast like look of craving shining in their eyes, glittering in the semi darkness of the hall, and it was clear to see that these things couldn't be human. As I looked up another drop hit my arm, and my stomach twisted as I realized what it was.

It was drool...

"Consider this a proper reward for unwelcome guests." Silas said, and a cruel smile lit up his face.

"Go!" I screamed, backing away towards the castle doors, pure instinct forcing me to try and save the men. "Get out of here."

Like a small stone dislodging from the ceiling, one of the creatures let go, plummeting through the air, and landing on the stone floor with a twisted thud. Another let go, and another. The one that had fallen first, flipped over onto its hands and knees, like some kind of agile lizard, eyes alight with feral instinct.

"RUN!!!" Geru roared, his voice tearing through the terrified tumult of the men, and the feral screams of the half human beasts. "FUCKING RUN."

Following his own advice, Geru seized my arm, dragging me after him. I wasn't in danger, but he didn't know that, and he pulled me after him as he carved a path through the fray with his sword. All around us men were fleeing, falling, struggling desperately to reach the courtyard.

A heavy weight suddenly slammed into me, ripping me from Geru's grip, and I toppled backwards. Aching pain throbbed in my shoulder blades as my back was slammed into the stone floor, the wind escaping from me in a gasp, and I struggled, bruised and disoriented. One of the things was crouching on top of me, bony fingers, with long impossibly sharp clawlike fingernails, slicing into my shoulders. It hissed, fangs dripping with saliva, and I tried to escape its horribly clinging grip. The thing tried to bite me, striking at the air like a snake, and I shielded myself with an arm, closing my eyes. I heard it let out a shriek of pain, its weight vanishing from my chest.

Lord Briarwood's strong arms suddenly gripped me, dragging me backwards. I desperately clung to his arm, breathing hard. But insatiable desire blazed in the creature's eyes, and for a moment, it looked like it was going to pounce on me again. Then Silas snarled at it, fangs fully bared, like a coiled beast claiming dominance over a scrap of food. As he bared his teeth, the creature backed away, whining like a beaten cur, terror in its blinking eyes.

Geru had turned to help me up, and had seen the whole thing. For a moment I saw confusion on his face, his eyes flicking up to Lord Briarwood, who had his arms wrapped around me protectively. Then his eyes hardened, confusion replaced by silent understanding. He knew exactly what I was, and he turned away, pushing out through the double doors into the courtyard. I shivered, twisting in Silas's arms and supporting my forehead against his shoulder.

"You've proved your faith." He said in my ear, allowing me to cling to him. "You've done well."

It was small praise, but I glowed at the words.

"Now get up," Lord Briarwood said. "The battle isn't over yet, there's still work to be done."

He released me. The moment of reward passed, and his brief approval vanished. I felt a twist of pain as he pulled away, craving more. But one embrace was all I could have, and I silently understood that I must please him again, if I wanted to earn another.

"Follow me," Silas commanded. "I want to have you near, in case I should want something, and this is hardly a time for you to be roaming around by yourself."

"Yes sir."

Slowly Lord Briarwood stood up, his form towering over me, and looked around the hall. The frenzied activity was over by this time, all the men dead or fleeing into the courtyard, and the twisted creatures crouched over the fallen, squabbling over their prizes. As Silas rose, they all fell silent, looking up at him, as if by unspoken command. For a moment all was dreadfully still, and they gazed up at him with widely staring eyes. Then he raised his arm, pointing out at the courtyard where the battle still raged.

The creatures leapt across the stones, rushing to obey his silent command. Languidly, completely unconcerned, Lord Briarwood walked down the castle steps, his minions flooding past him into the battle. I followed him, gripping Traitor tightly, and plunged after him into the fray.


	11. The Flames of Blood and War

Seething chaos reigned in the courtyard. Overhead the dark clouds were heaving, low and angry over the castle, the hot wind swirling so fiercely it made it difficult to see. Flakes of black ash floated on the wind, forked red lightnings seared across the bruised undersides of the clouds, the stones lit up by lurid smears of red. The mass of the clouds grew thicker around the east tower, wisps of black shroud pulled down from the mass of the storm, and swirling around the tower's top like it was the center of a whirlpool in the sky. And at the center of it all, the center of the wind, the boiling clouds, the falling ash, was Lady Delilah. I could hear the terrible power of her voice. The wind was heavy with it, not carrying it, but actually made by it, controlled by it.

Into this howling darkness we were plunged. Silas's minions no longer intent on feasting, they had one mission: to kill. They bound across the stones, pouncing on their victims from behind, clinging to their shoulders like misshapen leeches, wrestling them to the ground. Heedless of injury, they flung themselves into danger, violently tearing at anything that moved.

I was blindly jostled by man and beast alike. The stifling air reeked of blood and sweat, the sky a heaving tumult of thunder and destruction. Blood ran between the paving stones, and streaked against my face. The crimson stain was on my hands. On my shirt. In my hair. And in the confusion I couldn't have told if it was mine, or another's. Every breath was like fire in my lungs, searing and all consuming.   
    To my left I saw a blur of motion, and danced out of the way. A blade slicing across my arm. Burning pain blossomed in my shoulder. Throbbing heat poured through me. I gripped the wound with one hand, feeling hot runny blood seeping through my fingers. Another strike I caught with the edge of my blade.

A shuddering explosion rocked the stones, the courtyard heaving with the sound. A sphere of black flames rippled out from the wall. A shockwave of scorching cold. The men caught in the flames doubled over, trying to keep their footing, before they were all reduced to dust, their withered forms crumbling under the force of the explosion. Then the black fire swirled and vanished, leaving the castle's white stones covered in spidery frost.

I reeled as the stones shook under me, turning my head to look at the explosion. Lord Briarwood, his cloak flung aside, the darkness of his blade like a gaping hole of nothingness in the shadows of the storm, was locked in desperate combat with a slim woman with wild blonde hair. She brought her hands up, her fingers splayed stiff in front of her. A crackling line of blue white lightning seared across the stones, striking Lord Briarwood and scorching everyone close to him. Blazing white light filled the courtyard, throwing Silas's stark black shadow across the stones.

And through this heaving chaos I saw the danger. A sword cut across my back, as I ripped myself away from my enemy, careless of the throbbing angry pain . Urged on by desperate fire, I mounted the steps to the wall top, sprinting across the stones, bursting through the door into the winding stair of the east tower.

Geru's footsteps disappeared ahead of me. I leapt after him. He knew I was behind him and sped upwards, his roar of desperation echoing around the inside of the tower, both of us racing up the tower steps. I could hear him breathing raggedly as he charged up the slope. His footsteps labored. Smears of blood on the wall where he supported himself with a hand. I was gaining on him. A shattering crash, and we had reached the roof. And then we both stumbled.

The wind howled over the sound of Battle down below, blocking all other sound. Darkness swirled around us, thick and heavy, weaving us into the hissing shadows of night. Scorching heat danced in the air, burning in my eyes and nose. The air a poison to breathe. Lady Briarwood was still sitting in the exact same attitude on the ground, hunched like a greedy child over the dark orb. It was steaming. Dark black smoke poured down its sides, creeping across the stones.

Geru, regaining his balance, turned and met me. My sword shuddered against his. I threw my whole weight into my blow, but he forced me back, my feet sliding across the stones. Here I found my opportunity. Dancing forward, I drew a swift stroke across his midsection. Before I could slither out of reach a stab of searing pain overwhelmed me. Geru's blade sank into my side, and I let out a gasp, stumbling back as he ripped his sword away. The second strike cut upwards across my ribcage, drawing a line of hot pain across my chest and right shoulder. He struck at me again, but this time his blade missed, hissing past my cheek. The breath of it whispered against my skin.

Lady Briarwood suddenly arched her back, flinging her head up to the sky, and breathing in. The world heaved around us. Geru barely kept his feet, I staggered to my hands and knees, my mind reeling. It felt like all the air was ripped from my lungs, was ripped from the wind, was ripped from the valley. There was no air anywhere. The darkness was all pulled inwards, drawing together. Power in the air growing so tense it would shatter. Then a wave of heat burst outward, flinging Geru on his back at the edge of the circle.

Throwing her arms out Lady Delilah released a cry of exultant triumph, glorying in the power that coursed through her body.  I screamed, and covered my ears. Overhead the dark clouds were sucked downwards, darkness swirling around her. Gracefully Delilah rose to her feet, her form towering over us, filling all my vision. She seemed grown immeasurably tall, powerful beyond the reach of my thought. Power, like I had never felt before, throbbed in the air around her, making all the little hairs on my arms stand up.

She looked over at Geru, dark energy swirling around her, and her eyes were completely black, their entire surface covered in inky darkness. Hand tensed so that every tendon stood out taught against her skin, she pointed at him, that Other whispering in her voice. Geru stood up, blood soaking into his shirt where I had struck him.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and I looked up, gazing fearfully at the vast expanse of darkness that loomed over the valley. The clouds heaved, writhing like a sickened animal, and a spot of livid red bloomed overhead. A ball of fire tore through the middle of the roiling murk, striking into the side of the tower with a burst of raging heat, and Geru was flung over the edge of the tower. His figure, impossibly small and dark in the blackness of the storm, fell like a small aimless stone, plummeting into blackness and obscurity. I screamed, struggling to my feet, and running to the edge of the tower.

Hardly giving Geru's death a second glance, Lady Briarwood turned and looked down. Stretched out below us was the city of Whitestone, its buildings lining the twisting streets, the Lady's Chamber standing out over the rest. The sky heaved. The clouds were torn apart as Lady Briarwood lifted her arms, and their bruised twisted forms unleashed a torrent of hellfire over the city. Like something from a nightmare, drawing streaks of fire and smoke across the sky. Flames danced, the city buildings crumpling like a collection of children's toys. I heard a bell begin to ring urgently, its desperate sound echoing over the valley.

Then Delilah staggered, and my attention instantly fastened on her, concern blooming in stomach. With a crack of thunder the spell broke, and she fell. Dark energy ripped from her chest, and the Orb pulled the energy from her body back into itself, becoming once more just an inert featureless orb of black crystal. I leapt across the stones to her side, the flames, the screams, Geru, Whitestone, all vanishing from my thoughts. My mind, my whole purpose was bent on Delilah Briarwood.

Flinging myself to my knees at her side, I desperately gathered her into my lap, my breath ragged. I crouched over her, listening, begging, pleading, for a breath. The faintest whisper stirred my hair, and I burst into tears, relief crushing me. I gathered her to me, touching her face, brushing aside her hair. The faint whisper stirred against my cheek, and I felt it with my fingers, longing for one more proof, and yet more, and yet more. Gently I wrapped my arms around her, laying my cheek against hers.

"I've got you..." I murmured incoherently. I hardly knew what I was saying. Hardly cared. Nothing else mattered but the woman in front of me. "You're safe, I'm right here. You can rest, its all over now...Rest...just rest..."

***

When Silas came all was dark, and had been for a long time. The heavy smog hung overhead like a thick blanket stretching from one end of the mountains to the other, muffling the air, deadening sound. Under the blanket, the roof of cloud and smoke was lit up by lurid smears of red, the burning flames of the city casting dark shadows on the darker night. A black greasy ash was drifting from the sky, sprinkling over the stones like blackened snow, and sticking to your skin. Amidst the deepening shadows I sat, holding Delilah protectively in my lap, gazing numbly up at the bleared sky with its red stain. We were cut off from civilization and all living things. Floating on a pinnacle of rock in a sea of isolation, and we sat enshrouded in solitude.

Full of concerned solicitation I watched Lady Briarwood, almost painfully attentive to her every breath. She seemed alive, but very weak, her breathing so faint I could hardly feel it. When I rubbed her hands they were deathly cold, her skin frighteningly pale, and her fingers felt like ice. In vain I tried to warm her hands with my own, and even breathing on them did no good, for after the flush of warmth, the heat of my breath was leached away by the winter's chill. I did my best to warm her with my own body heat, gathering her close to me, and wrapping my cloak over us both.

At last I heard a heavy tread on the tower stairs, and with a sympathetic instinct I knew it was Lord Briarwood. He impatiently thrust aside the trapdoor, and stepped up to the round tower top, taking in the view of the surrounding valley. Then his eyes dropped down to the ritual circle, the dark orb, and the unconscious form of Lady Briarwood. In an instant he had dropped down at her side, his hand seeking that of his wife's.

"What happened?!" He asked urgently, chafing her numbed fingers between his, and he brushed the hair out of her face. "How did this happen?"

"I- I don't know...It was too much I think..." I stammered incoherently, wishing fervently that I understood more about what it was that Lady Briarwood had been doing. "She completed the ritual, and it seemed to work, at least she was happy about it. But then the spell broke I think, and she fell. That thing," I pointed at the orb, "pulled this--this darkness--out of her body. Then it all vanished..."

I fell silent, my clumsy hurried speech coming to an end, and I pulled her closer to me. Silas cast a long calculating look at the dark sphere, his eyes distant.

"I see..." He said, and at last his eyes broke away from the crystal. Coming back to himself he looked down at his wife, rubbing her hand gently, and I saw something almost tender come into his eyes. He looked more human than I'd ever seen him.

Very gently he took her from me, and I unwillingly released her, my arms feeling cold and empty after supporting her for so long. Lifting Delilah as easily as he would a small child, he turned away, descending down the tower stairs. Once more withdrawn into submissive silence and obscurity I followed, feeling unwanted, but reluctant to allow Lady Briarwood to go too far from me. Wrapped in this silence we reached the bottom of the stairs, stepping from the tower's round interior, into the cold ash laden courtyard.

I had never seen, and could never have begun to imagine, such a picture of desolation. Even the flaming conflagration of Whitestone consumed and sterilized its own destruction, but this was filth that could never be washed clean. It might be washed from the stones, and all the traces might be removed, but the stain of it could never be scrubbed from memory.

The air stank.

Death littered the courtyard, bodies piled on the ground, black and nameless. Blood was thick between the paving stones, soiling everything within the castle walls, dyeing the white stones bloody crimson, and the coppery smell hung thick on the stagnant air. Wreckage of the gate and broken weapons lay scattered here and there, the shafts of spears standing over the destruction like ruined trees. Some of the fallen had been carrying torches, and they smoldered fitfully still, sending up plumes of poisonous smoke.

_Thus ended the second rebellion...It all came to nothing..._

The courtyard was crawling with slinking black shapes, so that the ground almost appeared to be moving, and they were creeping among the corpses. I wondered if I had ever hated anything as much as I hated their crouched forms. As Silas appeared one of them rose, standing on two feet like a man and swaying back and forth. Slowly they all did the same, watching us with glittering eyes.

Without looking at them Lord Briarwood crossed the courtyard, careless of the wreckage that lay all about him, fixated completely on his wife. I quickly followed, trying not to look at the men around me. Let them remain faceless, unnamed and unknown, they were better so. As before that one swaying figure moved first, following silently after Lord Briarwood, but this time the others didn't imitate him, remaining immovable.

Still cradling his wife, Lord Briarwood paused on the top step before the castle doors, turning to look down at his assembled minions. One of them hissed, a sharp expectant sound in the stillness. The one that had followed us was now standing apart from the rest, his lone solitary figure waiting below us for Silas's command, teeth bared in a wolfish grin.

"A dire day my children..." Silas said thoughtfully, not shouting, but his voice regally filled the courtyard. "A dire night falls after it. Fire and Destruction rain over this city, War shakes in the mountains, and _our_ night is falling...This will be a night of tears! When blood will flow like water, and _we_ will reign until blood shall fill this entire valley!" As he spoke Lord Briarwood's voice rose, growing in strength and majesty. He towered over the courtyard, his figure framed against the low roof of smeared cloud, and ash rained down around him.

"A night of Glory!" Silas thundered. "When you shall feast! Until every last drop is drained dry. Feast, until you are drunk with the Bounty! Glory in the flood, until you can bare it no more! Until you are full to overflowing. Revel in the plenty, until your mind is overthrown. Nothing will be spared from our punishment! There will be no pity for the old, for the women, for the children."

The lone figure below us snarled, snapping its teeth, flinging strings of saliva through the air, and he pawed at the ground like a half wild dog, eager to be released from its restraint. The other beasts were having a similar response, they hissed and fretted with eagerness, and they gave each other excited glances, working themselves into a frenzy. Over them all Lord Briarwood towered, standing tall and straight, carelessly holding Lady Delilah's limp form as if she were little more than a doll. He was terrifying, a powerful and fearsome god, demanding unquestioning obedience. His voice rose above the frenzy, driving them on to madness, thundering over the courtyard like an earthquake in the stones.

"GO! And you shall FEAST! There will be nothing to stand in your way! Your enemies will fly before you! Drive them! Like leaves before the unstoppable storm. Topple every stronghold! Destroy every barricade! Scatter every shelter and secret place. Do not stop for flames. Do not stop for fear. Do not stop for pain. Do not stop for death. You will not know weariness, you will not know pity. YOU SHALL FEAST!!!"

As if Silas had suddenly released an invisible restraint, they suddenly came alive, shrieking fiercely, their voices harsh and piercing, and leapt across the stones. It was like watching the rising of a living sea, as they poured through the gate. Some in their eagerness to reach their prize, scrabbled up the walls like twisted black spiders, flinging themselves recklessly from the castle wall top. The lone figure went last, pausing in the gate and rising to its feet, gazing back over its shoulder at Silas, like a dog with its ears half perked. I saw no sign pass between them, neither moved nor spoke a word, but their eyes met, and then the creature turned away and vanished into the ash laden shadows.

Lord Briarwood turned, careless of his minions or their fate. He seemed shrunken, and though still to my eyes majestic, he had no more than the stature of an ordinary man. Once again his had attention only for his wife, and as he turned away, he gathered her closer to himself, looking down at her. Cradling her carefully, he strode across the wide step before the castle's still open front doors, and passed through the portal into the darkened interior of the castle. Quietly I followed him, glancing back at the abandoned destruction of the courtyard, then I turned away as he had done, and pushed it from my mind.

Anna Ripley, the Professor, and several of the castle guards stood waiting in the foyer. Ripley was gazing out over the destruction, her lips curled into a small disdainful smile. There was no pity for the fallen men in her eyes, she hardly paused to glance at them, but I could see in her marked distaste that she found the destruction wasteful.

As soon as we entered Professor Anders stepped forward eagerly, his whole aspect one of fawning devotion, and he looked at Lady Briarwood's limp form with half grudging concern. Ambition bubbled beneath it all, simmering beneath every word of distress at her state. For here at last was a chance, to worm his way back into the Lord and Lady's good graces. His moment for proving his use had finally come.

Not quite as eager in his approach as Anders was, but still stepping forward with mechanical swiftness, was Sir Kerrion Stonefell. He was a man I had only seen from a distance, overlooking the farming in Whitestone, and visiting Lord Briarwood half a dozen times, but I remembered him very clearly. He was striking, mostly because he was not what one expected the former captain of Silas's guards to look like.

There was a handsome, almost boyish charm about him when he spoke. He carried himself rather freely for a soldier, having nothing of the ridged stiffness one expected, and he had a careless ease that contrasted with the deepness of his voice. His eyes were a bright blue color, that flashed when ever he smiled, and he had a thick head of tousled curly brown hair.

"Sire." He said, bowing as he stepped forward, with a fleeting half smile lurking about the corner of his mouth.

"Ah, Stonefell..." Silas said, his attention leaving his wife for a moment. "I've been wondering where you were. I need you to gather your men and strengthen the array on the wall top, the peasants may renew the attack in their desperation, and barricade the gate as best you can with what ever wood you can find. Anna, perhaps could go with you, and set more charges on the road, just as a precaution....Oh, and Stonefell--"

Sir Kerrion, who had been turning away to attend the duties that Lord Briarwood had given him, paused, smiling expectantly. 

"Clean up the filth in the courtyard."

"Yes my lord."   
    "Anders." Silas said as Sir Kerrion hurried down the steps of the castle, taking all the guards with him, and Lord Briarwood's voice was as sharp as the crack of a whip.

"Yes my lord?" With stomach turning eagerness.

"Go, fetch Delilah's implements from the east tower, and return them safely to the Ziggurat. Do it quickly, and do it alone. Then come straight back to our room. My wife will need your attendance."

"Yes my lord!"

Anders hastened away, face gleeful, his ambition satisfied as he had hoped it would be. These tasks delegated, the castle's safety momentarily trusted to other hands, Silas quickly mounted the stairs, heading for the second floor. Still silent, still forgotten, still unwilling to leave Lady Briarwood, I continued to follow in my master's wake unbidden.

One last quick journey that seemed to take only moments, down winding upper corridors and windowed galleries, then the door leading into Silas and Delilah's bedchamber. It was a beautiful room, with deep rich carpet, dark wood paneling, and hangings of red velvet. A wide fireplace stood at one end of the room, and the other was dominated by a magnificent canopy bed, with dark red drapery, canopy and pillars of dark cherry stained wood, intricately carved into the shapes of various beasts both animal and mythical. Another door, that was almost indistinguishable from the rest of the paneling, I knew communicated with the dressing room and boudoir.

"Pull aside the covers." Lord Briarwood commanded, without looking at me, and I hastened to obey.

With infinite care Lord Briarwood laid his wife down, arranging the pillows under her head, and pulling the blankets over her. He smoothed the hair away from her face tenderly, and examined her closely. Delilah still seemed no worse than before. She was breathing, though very shallowly, and each breath faintly stirred the covering draped over her. Her skin was still very pale, the color drained from her lips and cheeks, making her long shadowy lashes stand out stark against her skin, and her hands were almost transparent looking. I was tormented by restless concern for her. After laying Delilah out on the bed Lord Briarwood settled down beside her, looking attentively at her face, and he absentmindedly smoothed the back of Lady Briarwood's left hand that he held between his own. I also settled down, drawing back behind the bed curtains, and waiting quietly for Anders to come.

To pass the time I glanced over my own wounds, binding them as best as I could with strips of my own shirt, which was ruined anyway. My clothes were all damp, blood and sweat soaked into my shirt, making the baggy fabric cling uncomfortably to my skin. Loose strands of sweaty hair were stuck to my face, and the braid I had hastily tied was disheveled and stringy.

At the moment I was a little worse for wear, and as the adrenaline slowly ebbed away, stinging pain began to burn through the haze of excitement and worry, demanding attention. A line of tingling irritation prickled across my shoulder blades, smarting angrily any time I shifted my position, a shallow wound on my shoulder throbbed with heat, and a fresh line of stinging pain was traced across my chest, overcrossing the healed scar that Silas's blade had given me. But the side wound that Geru had given me was the worst, radiating feverish heat through my midsection, making it difficult to breath, and thick sticky blood still oozed lethargically. Slowly I tended to these injuries, gingerly dressing the deeper wound, with my bottom lip pinched between my teeth. The pain I couldn't fully assuage. It still throbbed through the bindings, blooming from every wound, but at least I wasn't bleeding anymore.

Professor Anders bustled into the room at last, looking hurried and out of breath. He had a small wooden box, little more than a simple chest, in which several objects made of glass clinked together. Lord Briarwood rose as he came in, and made way as the Professor approached the bed, withdrawing to a distance and looking on intently. The Professor set down his box on the bedside table, and began to look over Delilah more carefully, gently turning her head from side to side, touching her hands, and feeling the side of her neck with two fingers. I drew closer, anxiety constricting my breath, making my hands shake in spite of efforts to control them. Silas watched with similar sharpened attention, crossing his arms, and standing close behind Anders.

"Healing--" Anders said, holding his clenched fist over Lady Briarwood's chest, and his voice resonated with magic. "I command you."

He opened his hand, as if he were dropping something heavy he had been holding in his clenched fist, and I could sense rather see a heavy wave of magic that washed over the bed. Lady Briarwood drew in a deeper breath, her back arching slightly, then she coughed weakly. Silas was at her side in a moment, brushing Anders away, and bending attentively over his wife.

"Silas..." Delilah whispered, and her voice, though weak, wrapped lovingly around his name. Feebly she raised her arms, like a small child demanding to be held, and Lord Briarwood lifted her in a short embrace. Her pale icy fingers threaded through his hair, and she wrapped her arms around his neck with the clinging persistency of a trailing plant.

"You should be careful, you are still very weak." Lord Briarwood said, trying to extract himself from her embrace with some difficulty.

"I need more." She whispered, her grip dragging at him tenaciously as he tried to pull away, struggling with every word she spoke as if it cost her an enormous effort. "It wasn't enough. He needed more, needed _better_. He wasn't satisfied with my gift...He told me...to give Him...more..."

"Don't tax your strength darling." Silas said gently, finally managing to escape her weakening grip, and he laid her back against the pillows. As soon as he had unwound her arms from around his neck, she meekly complied, clearly fatigued by the effort of speaking.

Professor Anders had withdrawn to his wooden box, puttering about with its contents while they were speaking together. I could tell that he was listening. He now drew out a crystal flask, securely corked, and filled with a dark red somewhat grainy liquid, with traces of greasy purple oil congealed on the sides of the flask. He gave it a shake as he held it up, examining it carefully, turning it in his hand as he did so. Apparently satisfied his arms dropped to his sides, and he turned away from the box.

"My lady," He said deferentially, approaching the bed. "Please drink this, it will help."

 Silas held out his hand, and Anders gave him the flask with a small bow. Delilah reached out to take it, but Lord Briarwood uncorked the bottle first with a sharp tug, then gently passed it to her, his hand still hovering in the air, ready to assist if she was too weak to drink it herself. But she managed to lift the flask without assistance, and she threw her head back to drink, her hands becoming more steady as she did so. When she dropped her arms, the flask empty, a faint shade of color had come back into her face, and her fingers were no longer so deathly pale looking.

"Thank you Anders." Lord Briarwood said, taking the empty flask, and passing it back to the Professor without looking at him.

"Glad to be of assistance." The Professor said, with another small bow, and he put the empty bottle back into the wooden chest, re-corking it as he did.

"He wanted me to give him more." Lady Briarwood murmured, her voice still exhausted, but not as thready as before. "The sacrifice mirrors the gift...He said we need something stronger, if we wish to move him again. He wants purer blood. Animals aren't enough."

"Indeed?" Lord Briarwood said, and he looked grim.

"I gave him what I had..." Delilah said, with a tiny helpless movement of her hands. "But my strength was only barely enough to complete the ritual, hardly able to cover the bare necessities. It won't be strong enough again. He told me to bring better gifts.What that means exactly, I do not yet understand...I will have to commune with Him upon the exact terms."

"Not tonight." Lord Briarwood said firmly, capturing her hand. "You've exerted yourself enough for one day. You need to rest, and recover your strength. One healing potion is all you've taken."

"What would I do without you to take care of me..." Delilah murmured, the fingers of her other hand running across his cheek.

I averted my face as Silas bent over her.

"Now rest." Lord Briarwood said, rising at last. "I can attend to the rest, you take another potion, then sleep."

"Of course..." Lady Delilah said tiredly, plucking her hand out of her husband's, and she settled herself deeper into the pillows behind her.

The Professor pulled two more oily red potions out of the wooden chest, setting one on the nightstand, and handing the other to Lord Briarwood. Once again Silas uncorked it first, before handing it to his wife, who obediently drank it, then handed it back to him. A poisonous glance from Silas sent Professor Anders scuttling out of the room, carrying his noticeably lighter wooden chest. Gently Silas planted a kiss on Lady Briarwood's forehead, murmuring another commandment that she rest into her hair, then he also left the room. It had been completely forgotten that I was there, half hidden behind the curtain during the whole conversation, and quietly I rose to quit the room.

"Cassandra." Lady Briarwood's voice arrested me with my hand on the door, and I turned to look at her.

She looked better than before, some of her color had come back, though she still looked pale and wan. Against the whiteness of her face her eyes were unnaturally dark, large and luminous looking. But she was smiling as I turned to look at her, and she held out her hand, fingers trembling slightly.

"Come and lie down with me, my dear."

"I should leave, you need to rest, and Lord Briarwood..." I stammered hesitantly, but in spite of my words I was drawn closer, and I paused at the edge of her bed trembling.

"I want you my dear." Delilah said firmly, taking my hand and pulling me closer. I yielded to her submissively, sinking down on top of the heavy blanket, curling up next to her on the edge of the bed. Lady Briarwood touched my shoulder, then withdrew her hand, fingertips dabbed with blood that was soaking through my makeshift bandage.

What are these?!" She said, running her fingers over my shoulder, and the dressing around my stomach. "You're wounded..." Suddenly she pulled herself into a half sitting position, her face becoming hard as she said, "I want you to get that potion on the nightstand, and take it, right now, before you bleed anymore."

"That was for you," I said shrinkingly, "Lord Briarwood would be angry."

"I want you to take it," Delilah returned commandingly. "I order you to."

I couldn't disobey her. For a moment I struggled, but it only took seconds for me to give in. Every bone in my body commanded me to yield to her, and helpless to do otherwise, I surrendered. Gathering myself I rose, taking the potion filled flask and uncorking it.

The potion was grainy, as if it was full of fine sand, but it had an oily tang. It coated the inside of my mouth as soon as I began to drink, gathering on the inside of my throat like a cough medicine. The taste was reminiscent of gravel, or dirt, further highlighting the potion's grainy texture.

As soon as the potion began to hit my stomach I felt warmth bloom outwards. The stab wound in my side tingled, and began to itch like a healing wound, as the flesh stitched back together, finally it turned into a still fresh pinkish scar, the other slashes on my body closing as well. I drew a deep breath, the stab of pain in my side at every inhale gone.

Lady Briarwood held out her arm for me as I returned, making room on the bed. Taking her hand, I settled down on top of the covers, curling up in a ball, tucked into her side. I breathed in the smell of the bed covers, which had a faintly spicy odor to them, and felt the softness of the mattress under me, leaching all the exhausted heaviness out of my body.

"That's better..." Delilah murmured, her hand brushing through my hair, delicately plucking the loose strands out of my face. "I knew I'd feel better with you near me."

Her arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer, gathering me to her with motherly possessiveness. I could feel her hand stroking the middle of my back. And a stab of aching pain sank through the center of my being with a sharp, sharp, point. I closed my eyes against it, my fingers sinking convulsively into the blanket, fighting back tears. This closeness. The warmth of another person's contact.

Oh god, I'd been craving this...


	12. Talebearer

_Castle Whitestone, nearly two years later._

"That's good. Very good." Lady Briarwood said smiling, and she took my hand as she spoke, tracing the lines across my palm for the thousandth time. "You learn so quickly! It amazes me how far you've already come..."

"It's because you're such a good teacher." I said humbly. 

"It's because you have such long fingers." She retorted admiringly, running her hand over them while she spoke. "Fingers like these were made to play."

I sat silent next to her, half shrinkingly allowing her to hold my hand. The trace of her fingers felt warm across my skin, swirling over the palm in familiar pattens, and I relaxed under their influence. A seed of warmth flickered deep in my chest, pulling me to the center of myself. I could have let her do this forever...

"Lets try again," Lady Briarwood said, releasing my hand suddenly, and turning back to the piano as if recalling herself. "And let your fingers to the work. Music is meant to be felt, not thought." 

Obediently I rested my hands on the keys, feeling the smooth polished ivory under my fingertips. At Delilah's signal I began to play, almost painfully aware of my fingers, of the flexing of tiny muscles in the back of my hand. I tried to relax myself, and let my fingers to what ever they wanted. In my technical execution I was much improved, I could play the piece absolutely perfectly, but there was something deeper that I couldn't reach. At most times it didn't matter, with new pieces Lady Delilah forgave small mistakes, but when I knew the song perfectly there was something she wanted that I couldn't capture. I could feel myself grasping now, searching for something I couldn't place. 

As always happened when I was playing incorrectly, Lady Briarwood's hands began to twitch restlessly, as if she were longing to take possession of my hands and play through them. Then her index finger half unconsciously touched one of the keys, her hands gradually took over, and soon she was accompanying me. Slowly I slackened off, until Lady Briarwood was playing alone, watching her fingers ripple across the keys. 

Undoubtedly she was a far more accomplished player than myself. Her hands almost had a mind of their own, and the dexterity with which she played was mesmerizing. But there was something in her position, in the half unconscious dance of her fingers, in the sound of the music, that was almost alive. She could effortlessly command a depth of emotion that was completely beyond me. 

At the hight of the song Lady Briarwood stopped, the last notes trailing away into silence. Silence like a thick vapor replaced it. Lost in thought she sat, her breathing slightly agitated, fingers still poised on the keys. I knew better that to disturb her, to try would have been totally useless, she was not even aware of me. 

"That is enough for today..." Delilah said a last, drawing in a deep breath, and pulling her hands away.   
There was a shadow in her voice, as imperceptible as a change in temperature, but still felt just as strongly, and I shrank away from the piano, feeling that I'd disappointed her. I stood up to leave the piano bench and retreat to one of the window seats, but Lady Briarwood stopped me, her hand flying to my arm and holding me back. 

"Sit down, my dear. I forget that you are not a seasoned player...It is too much to ask for you to play like one yet." She said, pulling me back into my seat. Once again her hand had sought out mine, and her fingers were tracing their familiar patterns. "I have something for you. You just turned twenty one did you not?" 

"I didn't know you knew my birthday..." 

"My dear, I used to know everything about your family." She suddenly released my hand, rising and going to her work basket. After turning over the squares of fabric, embroidery wheels, and skeins of thread, she returned with a small package wrapped in tissue paper. Settling herself on the bench, she pressed it into my hands.

"A bit of a birthday gift." She said as I began to open it. "The fates decided that Silas and I were never to have any children, so now I can give it to you..."

Inside the tissue paper was a necklace of gold, with a small red teardrop shaped pendant. It was very plain, but at the same time beautiful, the chain glittering like a delicate golden thread wrapped around my fingers...

"Thank you..." I whispered haltingly, feeling the chain with my fingers. 

"I meant to give it to my daughter, when she came of age." Delilah murmured. "You would have been very like her. When I first saw you running down the stairs, I thought you reminded me of her. She would have been your age...and you had her eyes..." For a moment she fell silent, her eyes distant, clearly lost in her own thoughts, and when she spoke again her voice was contemplative, her reflection turned inward. "But that was a long time ago, before I made my choice...The Whispered One hadn't spoken then..."

Her voice trailed away, her eyes looking through the necklace in my hands to an image I couldn't see. My curiosity was peaked, and I waited with shallow breath for her to say more, eager to hear the rest. I itched to know the meaning of this riddle. But no answer came, she was silent, lost in her own deeply buried secrets. 

"My lady..." I said, recalling her eyes to my face. 

"Yes dear?" She replied with a faint start, a smile flitting across her face, as her attention came back to me. 

"Who is the Whispered One?" I asked hesitantly, half shrinking away from the question. "I've heard you and Lord Briarwood speak of him before, who is he?" 

Delilah squeezed my hand convulsively, going very white, all expression vanishing from her face. I felt an apology dancing on the tip of my tongue, and I shrank away, suddenly terrified. Before I could say anything Lady Delilah thrust me away from her, throwing me to the floor, sending a jab of pain through me as I hit the ground.

"You shouldn't ask me something like that." She murmured, her eyes completely dead. 

A sharp pain stabbed through the back of my skull, as something seized me by the hair. Strong arms jerked me into the air, throwing me across the room, and I collided with a sharp piece of furniture. Before I could struggle to my feet, the familiar stench of death enveloped me, making me gag, and a blunt force cracked across the side of my face. 

"That's enough." Lady Briarwood said at last. "Bring her to me."  
I could taste blood in my mouth, and the right side of my bottom lip was torn, the bruised flesh boiling hot against my tongue as I probed it. Weakly I tried to struggle to my feet, but my shaking limbs felt too unsteady to support me, and I was too weak to stand. My chest hurt with even the shallowest breath. Everything hurt. 

Cold hands seized me, raising me by the arms, and a hand muzzled my mouth. The skin pressed into my mouth was clammy, the flesh underneath soft and rotten, and a bitter putrid taste filled my mouth. I struggled to break away, bile rising in the back of my throat as the taste of spoiled meat spread across my tongue. 

"Look at me." Lady Briarwood commanded, and I unwillingly met her eyes, the two undead servants forcing my head back.

She was very white, her face a cold mask, chiseled out of white marble. She bent down, and retrieved the necklace she had given me from where it had fallen on the floor, the teardrop shaped crystal looking like a drop of blood against her skin. I choked on a sob, rent in half by my own devotion to her. 

"I hope you will learn from this punishment." Delilah said, a flicker of pity coming into her expressionless eyes, and gently she touched the side of my face. "I can find it within me to forgive you...but I forbid you to ever ask me such a question ever again..." 

I nodded dumbly, and her face became cold again, as she withdrew her hand. 

"Take her away," she said to one of the servants, "and lock her in one of the dungeons."

Exhausted I bowed my head. Offering no resistance, making no protest as I was dragged from the room. The warm coppery taste of blood lingered in my mouth, one side of my face inflamed across the cheekbone and throbbing, aching pain prickling across my shoulders. Every lurching step of my captors down the dungeon stairs jarred me uncomfortably, sending another sting of pain across my back.

Roughly I was thrown into one of the cells near the stairs, coming to rest with my face pressed against the straw that covered the ground, and I heard the cell door clang behind me, locking me in. Memory hissed in the shadows, my mouth tinged with the blood. I shivered, and curled up in the corner with my head buried in my knees, as far as possible from both the cell next to mine, and the chains where I had found my brother. 

It was cold, and I gathered closer into myself, trying to trap in my fleeting body heat. The torch that had been set into the wall the last time I came down here, when I deceived Geru and the men, was not burning now. After the two dead servants shambled out, I was left in utter blackness, and only memory gave me any idea of the dimensions of the space I was trapped in. I could fill the blindness with the shapes that I knew where there, but I could not see them.

"Hey!" 

I jumped as a strange male voice broke the silence, retreating deeper into my corner, as if I could make myself disappear into the wall. 

"Come on," The voice hissed again. Still I made no answer, huddling silent in the darkness, and after a moment the voice added. "Speak up, I want to talk to you. It's not like either of us have something else to do anyway."

It was a man's voice, not particularly unpleasant, or threatening. He sounded friendly, and spoke quietly. But he didn't seem to fear being overheard, as if experience had taught him that nobody was close enough to hear us. The inflection of his words was just slightly different than the speech of anyone I'd ever met here, the consonants more clearly pronounced, in the same way that Anna Ripley's voice had a subtle deviance.

The total darkness made it difficult to judge distance accurately. But he didn't sound as if he were that close to me, and I guessed that he was probably farther away than I'd first thought. There was a slight muffle, and echo, that told me he was at the other end of the dungeon at least, if not all the way in the other cell block. But the silence of the dungeon, as well as the reverberation of the stone walls, helped to carry sound farther. 

"Who are you?" I whispered at last, shrinking fearfully as I realized how loud even that sounded in the silence.

"They call me Talebearer." He said, his voice guarded, calculating.

"Just Talebearer?"

"Names are rarely safe to confide, Talebearer will do for now."

"You're not from here Talebearer." I whispered. It wasn't a question.

"No I'm not." He assented.

"What are you doing down here?" I murmured, half afraid to break the silence that had fallen, intrigued, but frightened by his guarded answers.

"That business is my own." He answered shortly. "My reason for coming here has no concern with you, it is my own knowledge, and belongs to no one else." 

He seemed angry at my questions, and I recoiled meekly, afraid that I'd offended him.

"I'm sorry..." I whispered, huddling down into myself, and falling silent.

"Don't be, I didn't mean to be harsh, but I'm a suspicious man." He said, a little testily, I thought. "I came to listen, and see what there is to be seen. But seeing is a dangerous business, and eyes are unwelcome in secret places, so here I am. If I judge correctly, there were some secret places I saw here, that the rulers of this castle would rather not have me divulge to others."

He had still chosen his words carefully, with the same guarded calculation that had been in his voice when he told me his 'name.' For now, it was enough of an answer to satisfy me, and I sensed that this was not a man who took questions kindly. We were both here, united by the fact that there was no one else to talk to, and that companionship contented me. 

"What about you?" He asked at last, goaded into speech by the absence of anything else to amuse himself with, other than conversation with me. I was the only diversion that presented itself. "My crime was seeing what was meant to be hidden, what did you do to deserve a bed down here?"

"I asked questions." I said broodingly, recalling the event bringing my distress back to my mind, and the bruise on my cheek tingled uncomfortably as I remembered it. "Questions get you in trouble, I should have known better than to ask, questions always hurt. But I ask anyway. I always do..." 

My head dropped back to my knees, exhausted by remembering. Every bone of my body ached, my cheek throbbed painfully, and my mind felt chilled and heavy. I was tired of speaking. 

"Whats your name kid?" Talebearer asked, his voice much more gentle, and somehow more open, than before. 

"Cassandra..."

"Well listen kid, I've asked a lot of questions in my time, and let me tell you, it's worse when you don't ask. Questions keep us alive. Keep them to yourself, don't share them with anybody, but don't for the love of god, stop asking. That's what I do: I ask, and my eyes give me an answer."

"You sound like a dangerous man Talebearer." I whispered, a smile drawn out of me in spite of myself.

"For anyone trying to keep secrets, I'm a nightmare. I see what I see." 

I laughed, I couldn't help it. He frightened me. Not only in his foreign speech, but in his alien attitude, this outlook of blatant interference. I was half intrigued, half repulsed, by his irreverence. And I had more questions. They burned at the tip of my tongue. 

"What are you thinking kid?"

"Where did you come from?" I whispered, eager to finally ask my questions, now that he had invited me. "I've never met anyone like you..." 

"I'm from Emon, it's a big city far southwest of here." 

"I know where it is." I said thoughtfully. Father used to speak occasionally of Emon, mostly in passing, and not as a place that had any real influence in our affairs. But I knew enough to remember that it was a coastal city, and that the royal family of Tal'dorei had their seat there. What a man, spy really, from Emon could be doing here, I had no idea. But Talebearer seemed to anticipate my question.

"There are eyes watching Whitestone, more than you'd think, even though it's remote, and not everybody is satisfied with what they see. Something isn't being told, and I was sent here to listen. Listen, and watch, and put a light into dark places." 

"But who sent you?" I asked.

"My superior sent me." Talebearer said, and for the first time, I sensed strong feeling in his voice. It was a feeling I recognized, for I felt a rush of sympathy as I heard it. It was devotion. Clearly Talebearer looked up to this man, admired him, was proud to serve him. 

"He's a man of many secrets, and he has eyes everywhere." Talebearer said admiringly. "The authorities of this city keep strangely distant, and the story of the de Rolos succumbing to plague doesn't fall into place. A few are starting to get suspicious of the silence. Something isn't adding up. Two rebellions, the city in ruins, creatures stalking the city at night, a castle full of undead abominations, the noble families dead, the de Rolos slaughtered...my superior was right to send me."

"You won't get away." I whispered soberly. "Nobody ever does, we've tried..." 

"More will come." Talebearer said simply. 

Another silence fell, and I settled my chin back into my knees, considering what Talebearer had told me. In all my life I'd never left this sheltered corner of the mountains. This was my home, and I'd been born and raised here, as isolated from the rest of the world as if we were living on our own city in the clouds. 

"I've never been to Emon..." I murmured. 

"Haven't done much traveling?" 

"Whitestone is my home, the farthest I've ever been is Swiftshore at the river bend. They get good fishing there, but I've only been there once or twice." I shrugged, reflecting back on my limited experience. 

"Better than nothing I suppose, but this city is an out of the way corner all the same." Talebearer mused. "What the Briarwoods could want with this place is beyond me. There's the white stone mines, but they stopped exporting that, and there isn't enough money in the timber production to make this place worth their while, yet here this is the place they chose to take over..." 

I had nothing to say to that, it was a question to which I had yet to learn the answer. I knew where the answer was. Deep down, miles down, buried under the earth south of here: something called the Ziggurat. Someone named the Whispered One. 

But at the moment I was more concerned with Talebearer himself, where he came from, what he had seen...He was well traveled, and less standoffish than Anna was. The hard consonants of his unfamiliar speech, his casual mentions of faraway places, were all drawn from a much wider scope of personal experience than my own. Far from being curious about his purpose here, I was simply curious about him. 

"Can you tell me what it's like?" I asked suddenly, carried by impulse. "Emon, what's it like? What do the people do there? What does it look like?" 

"Well it's...warmer, for one thing..." Talebearer said, after a moment's silence, in which he searched for words. "It's a big city. Makes this place look like a tiny mountain village in comparison. Set right on the ocean, with ships coming and going all the time, and merchants come up the Silvercut, bringing trade and news from the east...It's busiest in Winter's Crest, when the merry makers come. You should see it..." Talebearer laughed slightly, his voice becoming more animated as he warmed to his subject. 

"People come in from all over Tal'dorei, laughing and celebrating, probably getting so drunk they can't even stand, as likely as not. All the shops stay open at night, and the glassblowers make tiny glass lanterns to put candles in, so after dark it's almost as bright as if it were mid-afternoon. Then on the last day, Emperor Uriel makes a speech before the feasting starts, thanking people that happened to make themselves useful the last year, or did something good for the people. He usually gives them land too, maybe a mansion if they happened to be useful enough. Most of the time it's army captains or city diplomats, or the occasional Arcanist." 

Talebearer's voice changed, becoming softer, more thoughtful for a moment as if he were remembering something. "But we had some strange customers at this last Winter's Crest. This band of adventurers from Westrunn: a bunch of half elves, a couple gnomes, and the tallest hunk of beef I've ever seen. His biceps were about as big as my head. I think they helped the emperor in some way." 

"I've never seen a gnome." I murmured thoughtfully. "Everyone in Whitestone is human, and not many people travel this far...There used to be a bard that would come up from the south on Winter's Crest, when I was younger...I don't know where he came from, but people called him just called him Sam, and every year he'd show up out of no where under the Suntree. Playing songs until nightfall. Father and Mother always gave him a bed for the night, and he'd stay up with them talking until the sun came up. He liked to tell stories in the taverns after nightfall too. I think he made most of them up, poking fun at the gods. He told me that dragons have long necks because when Bahamut and Tiamat were fighting they pulled at each other's necks so hard, they got permanently stretched...I believed that story for the longest time..."

"I heard the same fable about Elephants."

"What are Elephants?" 

Hours passed by slowly, the time dragging in the complete darkness, but at least there was Talebearer to keep me company, though he talked more than I did. He had seen more than I had...Gradually our voices sank into silence, ready topics of conversation exhausted, and I was tired out. It had been years since I talked to anyone for so long. Yet we were both stuck here in the blackness, separated by one partition of stone wall, and there was a kind of companionship in that.

I had given up trying to find out more about Talebearer's business than what he told me. He was a secretive man, and kept his own closely guarded council, but he was a good man. I was sure of that. He was a good man, and meant no harm to me at least. 

There was no way to track the time, but at some point I must have fallen asleep. It was a featureless slumber, unmarked by dreams, and when I woke I had fallen from my curled up position in the corner, lying with my face pressed into the straw. Not only that, but the atmosphere had changed. Light was pressing through my eyelids, and as I came to consciousness I could see a torch had been set in the bracket on the wall. Voices echoed in the walls around me, muffled slightly by distance, but still carried to me by the reverberation of the dungeon.

"I told you before!" Snarled Talebearer's voice. "Do what ever the hell you want, you'll get fuck all from me. I came, I saw, kill me if you like, but I'm not the first, and I won't be the last."

"It doesn't have to be like this." Lord Briarwood said, cool, collected, almost amused. I smiled when I heard his voice, struggling into a sitting position. "We'd hate to cause you unnecessary pain..." 

Talebearer let out a sharp gasp, vented through gritted teeth, that he bit off and muffled stubbornly. "Fuck you...." He growled. 

"This really is pointless." Silas replied. "It would be better for all concerned, yourself especially, if you would just cooperate. After all, we have all the time in the world, and you have nowhere to go. We can continue this for as long as we need to. One way or another you're going to give us what we want." 

"My life means absolutely nothing." Talebearer snarled, voice strained, weak, but still rebellious. "I have nothing left to lose. You can kill me if you like, it won't make a difference. The more of us disappear, the more suspicious it'll look, you can't change that. Torture me as long as you like, but you can't cover up this bloodshed forever--"

His voice disappeared into another muffled sound of pain, a thin drawn moan quickly rising to a rasping shriek, like a tortured animal. It was stomach turning, and it went on forever. There were no more questions now, it was just pain for the sake of pain. I could feel myself breaking as I listened. Sympathy had always been my undoing, and it raked at me now, mercilessly grinding tears out of me. 

At last silence descended, the release of it leaving me numb. I could hear Talebearer's labored tortured breathing, hitching at every inhale, as if the movement brought on a fresh spike of pain. Silas laughed, a mirthless sound that chilled my blood, sending a shiver down my back. Then there was the unmistakable sound of a boot impacting with flesh, Talebearer caught and smothered a wet gasp of pain, his breathing little more than a labored wheeze. 

"You can't resist me forever," Lord Briarwood taunted. "I'll break you in the end."

Apparently satisfied, Silas left the dungeon. Seizing the torch on the wall, he used it to light his way, as he ascended the stairs. Once again the cells were thrown into complete darkness, in which the only sound was my companion's breathing. 

"Talebearer?" 

His voice hitched at the sound of my voice, becoming a forced chuckle that quickly stuttered and died. I cautiously shifted up to the edge of the bars, wishing that I could melt through them and find his cell. Empathy prompted me to aid him if I could, and it galled me that all I could do was sit here in the dark, listening to him suffer.

"Hey kiddo," Talebearer groaned, making a halfhearted attempt at brevity. "How are you doing?"

"How are you!?"

"Certainly been better." He said with another short chuckle that he immediately abandoned, whispering "fuck..." under his breath.

"Talebearer..."

"Just keep talking kid."

"W-what about?"

"I don't care! Just....just talk...please..."

"Ok um..." Inwardly I cast about wildly for something to say, but could come up with nothing other than meaningless prattle. "W-we were talking about Winter's Crest...It, um, it gets really cold here. And the snow gets so deep, my siblings used to build little tunnels in it, and pack down mazes to play tag in. We had little sleds that we would ride down the hill, if the snow was soft, and then in the evenings we'd all sit and read." 

It felt like hours passed, in which I did nothing but talk incessantly. Talking so much felt otherworldly, and I constantly struggled to come up with new subjects. I told him stories, recounted memories, quoted poems I had parrot learned during lessons long ago and had tried my hardest to forget since, anything to keep him occupied and entertained. Anytime my voice began to fail, the sound of Talebearer's sickly breathing began to creep back into the silence, and I forced myself onwards. I talked until my voice was ragged, until I was exhausted, until I could hardly think, like a box full of oddities that had finally been ransacked and laid bare. Finally, finally, I failed and fell silent, my mind empty and aching.

"Thank you Cassandra," Talebearer said when my voice fizzled out. 

"I'm sorry...I should keep going..."

"No, no, no, that'll do just fine kid, but thank you."

"You should just give in." 

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't fight them. Silas and Delilah have all the power here" I declared with conviction, shuddering as I said it, and I stumbled over their names, as if the Lord and Lady's names were too sacred to say out loud. "They always win, and if you try to resist, they'll just break you. Better to get it over with and give in."

"I thought you were here because you asked dangerous questions," Talebearer said suspiciously. "It seems to me like you aren't sticking to your own advice."

"What I did was wrong." I retaliated feelingly, the bruises on my battered body once again beginning to throb. "It was wrong, and if you do something wrong, they'll punish you for it."

"So then, if they're 'punishing' me, does that mean that I'm doing something wrong?"

"Disobedience is always wrong."

"You disobeyed them?"

"They told me 'no questions,' and I disobeyed them," I returned, inwardly marveling at Talebearer's skill in turning the conversation back on me.

"That's bullshit kid." Talebearer countered strongly. "Questioning is the first step to open rebellion my friend, that's why they punish you. Every question you ask is a silent resistance inside."

I didn't answer. My skin was prickling uncomfortably, and I once again shrank back into myself. Guilt answered the truth of his words, burdening me with accusations, and I struggled to push them from my mind.

"You say I should stop resisting them," Talebearer said gently, his voice stronger than it had been, as if talking about my struggles helped him to forget his own. "It seems to me like maybe you should start."

"No, I shouldn't!" I countered defensively as soon as he spoke, my loyalty sparked, and a prickle of indignation ran over me. "They're my family, I could never fight them."

"Because that would be wrong I suppose?" Talebearer said with a hint of condescension.

"Yes! It would be wrong."

"And whats the benefit of doing right? Do you get a reward for it?"

"Why would I need a reward?" I demanded angrily. "You shouldn't need a reward to do the right thing. I'd willingly give my life for them if need be, and thats not something you get a reward for, that's just part of it."

"Have they ever thanked you for it?"

That was cruel. Cruel because it struck at an aching truth, and tears rose to my eyes as if I'd been stabbed. It hurt to have him ask me that. Such a simple question, but I couldn't answer it. My silence left an aching void, but that too was another answer, and after a moment I heard Talebearer shift uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry kid. That might have been a little bit below the belt." 

"Goodnight Talebearer..." I murmured after a moment, though I didn't really know if it was actually nighttime or not.

Shrinking back into my old corner, I curled up in the straw, pillowing my head on one hand. But sleep remained maddeningly distant, and for a measureless stretch of time all I could do was lie on the floor, wide eyed in the dark, listening to the small rustlings of Talebearer. 

At last another long interval of blind oblivion overtook me, and for a while time and place both had no meaning. But waking brought no change, sightless slumber was no different than equally blind wakefulness, time dragged but waking or sleeping I had no way to measure it, beyond how many times I had already slept. Other more primal concerns were beginning to press themselves upon my notice, demanding attention. Namely Food, Drink, and Waste. The final problem I could alleviate if it came to that, but it was humiliating to do so, especially with Talebearer so near, quite able to hear every movement I made. Sustenance was something I could not gain however, and of the two, the desire for water was swiftly becoming an irritating need.

"Hey kiddo," Talebearer's voice broke the silence as soon as I stirred. For a moment I paused, almost afraid of making another sound, but if I was truly being honest with myself, the interval of silence was over. I couldn't simply ignore Talebearer forever.

"Hello," I murmured, drawing myself back into a sitting position. "Good morning, or maybe evening. I don't know."

"Good day at least," Talebearer replied with a wry laugh.

"It could be night time for all we know."

"Nah, they brought food while you were asleep. As close as I can tell, they only do that during the day."

I shivered that the mention of 'they.' Having nameless eyes look at me while I was asleep, was far from pleasant. But that discomfort was almost immediately swept aside by the mention of food, and the dull ache in my gut tightened into a clenched knot of demanding need. 

"When? Where?" 

"Outside your cell kid. I heard them leave you some."

There wasn't much, only a stale chunk of bread without a plate, and a tin cup of water. Nothing like the handsome meals I enjoyed at the Lord and Lady's table, spread in selfish decadence, a display of elegant waste that no one would ever have the capacity to eat. But after my abstinence, even this was a feast.

"Take it slow there friend," Talebearer advised as I gathered the coveted victuals to me, "you don't know when you'll get another one. Make it last." 

I wanted nothing more than to eat it all, but I could see the wisdom of his council, and practiced self restraint. 

"Better isn't it?" Talebearer asked when I had finished.

"Much."

"Well, enjoy it while you can."

"What do you mean?"

"Food always comes before one of the sessions," my companion answered darkly. 

"But they just finished!"

"They'll come again, you'll see."

"Just give in Talebearer!" I urged again, appalled at my friend's unbelievable stubbornness.

"Don't know how kiddo, I'm a fighter, always have been."

"You can't keep doing this forever."

"Well I'm going to give it my damnedest! Understand?"

The accusation in Talebearer's voice silenced me, once again divided by this sharp point of disagreement. But this time Talebearer relented, brushing aside my deviance, just as I had relented earlier.

"Lets just agree to leave it be, shall we?" He said gently. "What I do with my life is my business. Agreed?"

"Agreed...I just don't like hearing other people in pain," I protested sullenly. 

"You've got a good heart girl." Talebearer said after a long thoughtful silence, and I smiled wanly in the darkness at his words. "But you care too much kiddo, and you can't save everybody. That's just going to get you in trouble."

"You're one to talk," I retaliated, only half in jest. "It takes one to know one, they say."

"Well, perhaps you're right...We're both of us prone to questions, what else that says about our similarities, I can only imagine." 

"You're a good man Talebearer, even if you don't always do the wise thing."

A low laugh filled the dungeon cells, settling over the stones, and echoing into the dungeon's deepest recesses. I knew that sound. The familiar bone deep recognition immediately responded to it, jerking my soul up on tiptoe, poised and quivering. It could only be my master, Silas, though how he had so silently entered was beyond me. 

"Is that what you think of him, my little helper? Really 'Talebearer,'" Lord Briarwood said mockingly, pronouncing my nickname with distain. "I'd no idea you deserved such a good opinion."

A torch sparked to life, washing the stones with firelight. Silas, along with several of the undead servants, stood bathed in torchlight at the bottom of the stairs, and once again Silas set the torch in the iron ring on the wall. Relieved of the torch, Lord Briarwood vanished around the corner where I knew Talebearer's cell lay, followed by his attendants. 

"Ah, decided to pay me another visit? Felt I was in need of a little friendly company did you?" Talebearer said with open hostility, his voice becoming closed and recklessly jesting, as it had first been when he spoke with me.

"No indeed, you seem to have found some pleasant companionship, without my help. I hope you have been enjoying her? She makes a nice cellmate for you, from what I hear, the perfect little friend..." His voice, which had been conversational, now turned hard and almost resentful, sharp with intelligent malice. "My wife has found her an excellent companion, upon occasion...how agreeable for you to discover the same charms."

He spoke of me with terrifying openness, as if he knew I wouldn't rebel against his words, or worse, I wasn't even there at all. I could feel the spite of his words keenly, the sharp needle of aggression that stabbed, even while the weight him oppressed me. The oppression was his possessiveness, speaking of me as if I belonged to him; the torture was his degrading tone, speaking as if I were merely an object of little use, and no value.

"She does well enough to pass the time with, you're right to say that I've enjoyed her." Talebearer said conversationally, but there was no real warmth, and it immediately hardened as he continued. "Are we going to begin then? I assume your here to continue your 'friendly inquiries'."

"No need to be so hasty!" Lord Briarwood's voice carried a note of relish that sent a shudder through me, a hint of eager anticipation. "After all, it's not like you could run away from me if you wanted."

"Well, as you say, I've got all the time in the world and nothing else to amuse me. I might begin to grow bored at this rate."

"Are we eager to get it over with perhaps?" 

"Just trying to lighten the mood my lord..." 

"That's understandable, seeing how I intend to take my time...Please, by all means mock me if you like..." Silas said with mock sympathy. The hiss and sizzle of burning flesh underscored his voice, and Talebearer once again uselessly endeavored to smother his voice. The pained whine quickly became more than he could control however, and I covered my ears as he screamed.

"I promise," Silas said as exhausted silence once again fell, "I'll be the one laughing in the end."

"We'll see about that. I can do this all day." 

"I'll ask again," Silas said patiently, "who was sheltering you?"

"Did you ask the others that question?" Talebearer said, laughing morbidly, a harsh labored sound with no real humor in it. "Did they sell out their friends when you asked them to? If I was going to tell you anything, I certainly wouldn't answer questions that put others at risk. Ask away though, I'm sure it'll achieve--"

Another involuntary scream cut Talebearer short, and when he regained the power of speech he chuckled hollowly, almost whining as he breathed.

"I did ask, if you really want to know. I asked every single one the same question," Silas said lightly.

He gave no word, no vocal command, but the undead servants reappeared under the torchlight, approaching my cell with settled purpose. Dread filled the pit of my stomach as soon as they moved toward me, and I shrank back into the corner of the cell, as one of them clumsily unlocked the door. Rotting hands seized me, dragging me to my feet against my will, and struggling uselessly I was dragged to Talebearer's cell. 

It was larger than mine, spacious and covered in more old straw, well lit by the torch. Talebearer himself was chained in the center of the cell, too weak to stand on his feet, but without enough slack to kneel comfortably on the floor, so that he was kept in perpetual discomfort unable to rest without the chains digging cruelly into his skin, drawn tight with his own weight. His skin glistened with mingled blood and sweat, streaking across his skin from surgically precise cuts that flayed his skin, and soaked into his straw colored hair that fell past his shoulders in a tangle that obscured his face. 

Lord Briarwood, impeccably dressed, save for a thin spatter of blood, that fell across his otherwise spotlessly white cravat and the side of his cheek, lingered over a table on one side of the cell. Knives, and other even less savory things who's nature I couldn't guess, winked in the torchlight on it, their bright sparkle a tasteless mockery. He bowed to me as soon as I was dragged into the cell, his perfect grace another kind of farcical pretense. A toxic bile of blended fear and disgust rose within me at his gesture.

"I've asked every single meddler the same questions." Lord Briarwood declared, fingers lightly swirling over his tools, like an artist on the verge of choosing the perfect shade for his palette. "They weren't difficult questions to answer, however every single one of them made as valiant a resistance as you have, for which you have my respect. But in the end, I coaxed every single one of them into obedience. Just a matter of laying my finger on the right pressure point, and I think I've finally found one, tailored just for you." 

With a flourish Silas selected a pair of silver pliers, the artist discovering his perfect color. It fit into his hand, and he watched the dance of torchlight on the surface, as he opened and closed it. 

"As much as I've enjoyed our little rivalry, when it comes to domination, I will always emerge the victor. It's time to break you 'Talebearer'," Silas said. "Open her mouth." 

This command, spoken aside to the attendants, was immediately obeyed. Ironlike hands pried my jaws apart, dragging my head back. Adrenaline prickled across my skin, clawing jaggedly into the edges of my senses, forcing my breath out labored and rabbit fast. At last leaving the table, Silas approached me, locking his hand around my chin for additional grip. And here was the true agony, because even now I felt a heedless surge of love for him as I was forced to look up at his face, an unquestioning devotion that was wounded by his oblivion. How could he look at me so carelessly? 

"She has such pretty teeth, what a shame for her to loose them on your behalf Talebearer." Silas said, peering into my mouth with detached interest, and with sickening gentleness he pushed up my lip with one icy thumb.

My breath grew labored and ragged, harsh with blind panic, and my struggling gained a renewed vigor that was fueled by desperation. Silas only gripped into my skin more tightly, his far greater strength forcing me into unwilling submission. I was physically overpowered, and resorted to begging, silently pleading. Even now I could hardly believe that after I had tried so hard to please him, he still could hurt me with so little hesitation. 

"If you're going to beg my dear, then beg your friend. He's the one you should be pleading with." Silas said coldly.

Forcing my head to one side, he shifted his body to give Talebearer and I an unobstructed view of each other. Talebearer wasn't looking at me, his head determinately bowed and obscured by a curtain of dirty hair. I felt Silas's chosen tool brush against my teeth, settling into a good position, and tried to flinch away from the contact sobbing. With slow determination I felt Lord Briarwood squeeze and then begin to pull, at first nothing more than a slight discomfort that rose to a sharp stab of agony with frightening speed. 

"The Father!" Talebearer's voice burst out, cutting across my pain, speaking in a rush of desperation. "I didn't know his name, it was safer that way, but he sheltered me with his goat outside the temple of Pelor." 

Silas's pressure relaxed, and I couldn't help but sob at how good it felt when he released me. He didn't gloat in his victory, he was too focused for that. For as soon as one question was answered, he formed another.

"Who sent you? Who were you meant to report to?" He pressed, and I whimpered as Silas bent over me when Talebearer didn't answer. 

"Who else but the Master of Secrets, the great Seeker himself?" Talebearer said sourly, his relenting once again sparing me from Lord Briarwood. "He's a man with no name, but he's close to the emperor, and his men see everything."

"I need a name." Silas began to insist, but at that moment he was interrupted by the most unexpected sound imaginable: laughter. A low, sweet chuckle that ran through the darkness like a breeze, and shattered the intensity of the situation.

"Still trying to crack our tough nut then my love?" Delilah's voice said, blended with more silent laughter. "You've spent so much of your energies on our guest, I do declare I'm beginning to feel a little jealous." 

Lady Briarwood appeared at the edge of the dungeon cell, just as vivacious as always, her goodnatured wit like a sweet smell that invaded a pit steeped in death. She was entirely out of place, and in the contrast had never seemed so beautiful in my eyes. I wasn't the only one to think so, Silas was charmed by her too, an admiring husband in complete adoration of his wife. 

"Will I be alone again this evening, or will you be sitting with me?" She inquired lightly, then her eyes swept over the scene before her, and her face darkened, the sparkle leaving her eyes so that they became dark and deadened in her pale face.

"What are you doing with my ward, Silas?"

"I've at last found something to make our little bird sing." Lord Briarwood said patting my cheek with a passing show of affection. 

"Well I didn't sanction this little measure, and as she is my charge, you may leave off for this evening. Really my love, your determination does grow tiresome." Lady Briarwood answered coldly, all her humorous remarks blotted out. "You can finish this another time, I'm tired of it."

Silas would have protested, but when he opened his mouth to do so, Delilah silenced him. Crossing the cell, she drew him into her. With perfect certainty of her power over him, knowing exactly how to influence him, how to charm him, with no more effort than it took to breathe. In short, she ruled him completely. His brief protests were all dismissed in an instant, banished by her greater charms, and he yielded into her as if she were magnetic. 

When she released him, I could see that Silas was completely under her spell, his arms wrapped possessively around her slender waist. He was obsessed with her, unable to drag his eyes away from her, fascinated by even her tiniest movements. With a satisfied smile Delilah ran her fingers lightly through his hair, and let her hand settle on his jacket.

"It can wait," She murmured dismissively, pressing her advantage. "You belong with me tonight." 

"For now..." Lord Briarwood unwillingly conceded at last. "But I can only leave it for the moment."

At a gesture from Silas I was suddenly released, and stumbled to my knees momentarily too weak to stand. Lord Briarwood had already forgotten me and Talebearer, already concerned with other matters, and his eyes were downcast as he left the dungeon. Delilah watched him go, then one of her thralls seized the torch on the wall, and escorted by the light, she too moved toward the exit. 

"Cassandra, come with me please," She commanded over her shoulder. Irresistibly drawn after her, I followed, footsteps echoing in the silence as I hastily trailed after her. I was eager to leave the memory of the dungeon behind. 

"Kiddo..." It was Talebearer's voice, thin as a reed and harsh at the edges from pain. I faltered when I heard it, pausing at the stairs, and glancing back at the dungeon indecisively.

"I'm sorry Talebearer," I murmured into the darkness, still hesitating upon the stairs. "I wish I could help you, but you know I can't." 

"Don't ever let them get to you kiddo, keep asking questions." Talebearer answered, his voice softened with sympathy, and even though my conscience protested against his words, a deeper part of me still appreciated his kindness. "You hear me? Don't ever let them take that from you..." 

I couldn't think of a reply, there was none, and at last whispered, "thank you Talebearer," hastily turning away. Scaling the stairs two at a time, I emerged in the free air of the castle, drawing in a deep breath as if I'd just risen from being underwater. Half remorsefully I glanced back at the darkened stairwell leading down to the blindness of the dungeon, a strange impulse holding me frozen at the top of the stairs. 

"Cassandra." Lady Briarwood's voice startled me, and I found her standing behind me, waiting for me to follow her. "Come along, my dear." 

The spell was broken, I was myself again, standing in the middle of the servant's wing. Torches had been mounted on the walls, bathing the hallways in flickering yellow light, and in their uncertain light shadows had been cast in all the corners. Hastily I followed after Lady Briarwood, unwilling to make her wait for me again. 

Evening shadows were swiftly gathering as we re-entered the sitting room, pressing up against the windows, and lurking in the corners. The fire had a bright, cheerful look, warm and inviting. Delilah settled on a couch by the flames, her hand taking mine, and she pushed me down to kneel at her feet on the hearth rug. 

"Have we learned our lesson then?" She asked, her voice impossibly gentle, as she looked down at me.

"Yes." 

"That's good." She said, caressing my hand as she spoke, and she looked at my face searchingly. "I hope you've profited by my little punishment?"

"Yes my lady." 

"Yes indeed..." She mused for a moment, then smiled, apparently satisfied. "Yes, I can see you have."

Delilah drew me up from my place on the hearth, settling me next to her on the low couch, and bent down to retrieve her workbasket. I sat, shrinking a little to be so near her, for I still felt unworthy of the close proximity.

"I'm glad to have this little incident behind us." Lady Briarwood said cheerfully, straightening as she spoke, and shifting delicately through the basket's contents. "It was not very pleasant for me to punish you my dear, but if you have profited by my lesson, then I'm glad to have acted. I hope I will never have cause to treat you so harshly ever again, for I am very fond of you my dear."

"I learned my lesson," I said submissively. "I won't question you again."

"That's good, I'm glad to hear it." There was a glint of gold against her pale skin, and she drew out the necklace she had given me. "I'm going to give this back to you, and I hope I never have any reason to take it from you again. I forgive you my dear." 

Hands shaking I took the necklace from her, rubbing the delicate chain between my fingers. I could hardly believe my good fortune. This necklace that should have been an inheritance for her daughter, should have been a gift for her child, for the flesh of her flesh. And after everything I'd done, after how I'd offended her, she still felt me worthy of such a gift. I couldn't put into coherent thought how much it meant to me, but it was a keen, piercingly sweet kind of lingering pain. 

"Thank you..." 

"Let us put all of this behind us," Lady Briarwood said kindly, tilting my face up to look at her, and cupping my cheek. "We can forget this ever happened, and continue on, exactly as we were before." 

"Yes my lady."

Lady Briarwood's hand against my cheek felt warm.

Then her face hardened, and she withdrew her hand suddenly, as if it sickened her to touch me. The door behind us had opened, and Lord Briarwood had stepped into the room. His eyes flickered over me, and I blushed, silently leaving my seat next to Lady Briarwood.

Silas never cast a second glance at me, but I could sense his approval. It was not my place to linger so close to his wife when he was there. Carelessly Lord Briarwood occupied my vacated seat, and I shrank away to the shadows of the window seat, settling in the darkness behind the half drawn curtain. 

"I was wondering when you'd come." Delilah said fondly, accepting a kiss on the cheek that she caught and returned, drifted closer to his lips than his cheek. 

"You and I need to talk," Silas said, either oblivious to, or ignoring, the silent invitation in her gesture. "We have quite a bit to discuss." 

"Naturally." She replied, without much enthusiasm, drifting away from him, and threading a needle with a long piece of dark green floss.

"I would like you to attend to me." Lord Briarwood said, after a moment's silence.

"I am attending." 

"This can't continue unaddressed any longer." 

"He's nothing more than a pawn," Lady Delilah said, with a little annoyance. "He has next to no value, no power, no leverage, there is absolutely nothing he could possibly do that would be more than a minor inconvenience. He has no weight." 

"What he's seen could--" 

"You are too concerned with trifles." Delilah said sourly, more annoyed with Lord Briarwood than I had ever seen her. "Who is there he can tell? There is nowhere for him to go! We have him, safe, out of harms way, where there is nothing more he could do with the information he has. Either he will yield to your influence, or we will dispose of him."

"That solution may deal with the immediate problem, but there is more to think of here, and that will not be so easily dealt with." Lord Briarwood said. "Simply burying our problems in the ground won't work forever."

Delilah only shrugged slightly, and continued to sew, delicately stitching a leaf into her patten. With a sudden movement, Silas seized her hand, gently wresting its motion. 

"In one particular at least, this is a genuine threat." Silas said, keeping her hand in his, as if afraid that her attention would wander if he released her. "He hasn't been the first, and this outside interference will continue, and the longer it goes on, the more suspicion we will attract. It will only get more pointed, unless we address it. Publicly."

"What is to be done then, my darling?" Delilah said in a tone of blistering cold, twisting her hands out of Silas's. But Lord Briarwood had succeeded, her attention was at last fully on him, and once her hands were free she didn't immediately go back to her sewing. "We can't allow this man to walk free, carrying his meddlesome tales to the closest ear. If he continues to resist you, we will have no choice but to silence him, and according to you that is only an aggravation of the evil. Are you suggesting that we step out into the light? Knowing what you are, knowing how they would judge you, knowing that it would set destruction upon our entire purpose?"

"No I am not suggesting that." Lord Briarwood said patiently. "I am suggesting that some form of false explanation must be given. We have resources, there are steps we can take. But this silence must end, we cannot remain unknown any longer. It would only draw even more suspicion."

"Can you really be certain of that?" 

"There are safeguards around this city." Silas returned soberly. "My children keep a close watch upon our borders, but only a fool would say that there is no danger. One day their vigilance might waver, and someone like the Meddler downstairs will escape our reach. If that happens, then we will be revealed, and it won't be on our terms. We must act before then, and stop this stream of spies before one of them manages to escape."

A long silence ensued. Lord Briarwood sat leaning back, framed against the light of the fire, watching his wife searchingly. She sat unresponsive, her fingers mechanically stitching, her eyes far away, as she considered what Silas had said. I watched them both, keeping as still as possible behind the curtain. In such complete silence I knew the slightest movement would be painfully noticeable, and at the moment I didn't want them to notice me.

"I don't like this distraction." Delilah said at last, her voice regretful. "If we really are going to 'address this matter publicly', we should certainly have to travel, there is no doubt about that. And I don't savor the thought of straying so far..."

"We have time," Silas responded dismissively. "Anna is weeks ahead of schedule." 

"I know." Lady Briarwood said with a weak smile, her hands pausing in their mindless dance for a moment. She glanced toward the windows, taking in the darkness that had fallen outside, all the darker because of the firelight from the hearth. 

"Very well." She said, rising from the couch. Silas rose with her, and she stood on tiptoe to give him a swift kiss. "If you think that we should do this, I trust your judgment." 

"Thank you for the confidence." 

With a swift movement of her fingers Delilah wound the rest of her thread around one finger, throwing the whole project into her basket. Once her hands were free, she laced them between Lord Briarwood's.

"You and I had better get rid of our present difficulty then. He has troubled us quite long enough." And with these words, she drew him from the room, leaving me alone behind the window curtain. 


	13. Ripley's New Toy

I feel the fire.

The dance, the celebration, the harmony. 

The music ignites my blood, the dance infects my soul. Their hands lace with mine, their faces blur before my vision. We are dancing, celebrating, laughing, weeping. 

The Suntree is drenched in blood. It drips from the leaves. We are running, the dancers are running, I am running. The wind is roaring, howling, screaming. It rips at my clothes, it rips at the Suntree. Lightning scorches across the sky, the clouds heaving, the world ending. 

Blood is raining down. Blood and fire. The city is burning, I hear it screaming, I see its flames. Behind me the ground shatters. Nothingness, emptyness, only nothingness. The Suntree is falling. Into the darkness, the death, the hunger. It rises behind me. 

I stumble. The ground gives way beneath my feet. I'm falling, screaming. The nothingness consumes me. It rises around me, embraces me, swallows me whole. The darkness is rising.

***

I jerked awake, my chest heavy with the sensation of falling, and my head was pounding. I struggled to rise, my hands shaking so badly I could hardly command them to do anything, and finally managed to free myself. Trembling I shrank into the corner, pulling up my legs as a barricade between me and the rest of the world.

Gradually my breathing slowed, as the world returned to normal, but sleep still remained far away. After several long minutes I mustered enough energy to move, and I came out of my corner. Fumblingly I crawled out of bed, and ran my fingers through my tousled hair, as I snatched up a shawl. Pulling the wrapper around me, I stealthily pushed open my bedroom door. 

My unshod feet made no sound against the matted floor, and I flitted through the upstairs corridors like a white ghost, making my way downstairs. The hallways were cold, chill winter air seeping through the windows, and settling like an invisible mist over the floor. Cold billowed down the stairs as I descended, the stone floor of the entrance hall freezing against my feet. The rooms were all still and silent, the fires burned down into low cinders.

Finally my wandering came to and end, and I settled in front of the sitting room fire, now little more than charred pieces of wood, dead coals, and a few dull glowing embers. My feet were cold, and I gathered them up underneath me, curling up on one of the sofas near the fire. Shivering I snuggled deeper into the shawl I had brought, trapping in my body heat. 

"What are you doing out of bed in the wee hours of the morning?" 

It was Lady Briarwood's voice, and I glanced over my shoulder. She had come softly into the room, escorted by one of her undead thralls who was holding a torch for her, and she quietly shut the door as she spoke.

"I hope you weren't trying to get into some kind of trouble, my dear." She murmured, keeping her back to me, and I could sense a whiff of menace in her voice. 

"Of course not!"

"You know how Silas and I feel about those meddlesome tendencies of yours..." 

"No I couldn't sleep!" I exclaimed, eager to defend myself. "I would never sneak off without your permission."

"I'm glad to hear it." Lady Briarwood replied, crossing the room, and sinking down next to me on the sofa. "It was not an easy lesson to teach you, I should hate to see you forget it." 

Gently she reached out, touching my chin and turning my face so that she could examine it. Her eyes looked black in the flickering torchlight, liquid and brilliant. I felt a swell of devotion rise in my chest. 

"Why couldn't you sleep, my dear?" 

"I--" Her fingers brushed across my cheek, and I faltered. It felt so juvenile. "I had a bad dream."

"And what was this dream?" 

"It was like..." I paused searching for words, and she smiled encouragingly, inviting me to continue. "We--these people-- were dancing under the Suntree. We were all dancing, and then the sky opened, and all this, fire, came pouring out of the sky. The city was burning, and then the ground underneath the Suntree shattered. There was this, this nothingness underneath. The tree fell in, and then this darkness rose out of the hole, I tried to run...But the ground fell out from underneath me, and I fell in..."

"And then?" 

"I woke up after the fall."

"Indeed..." This one word was uttered such a strange tone, I quickly glanced at Delilah's face, startled. She was looking into the fire, and as she spoke her eyes glittered. It was a fierce expression, difficult to understand, and a fleeting smile accompanied the sparkle. But there was a dark ambition in that brief flash, and a dark triumph, as if she knew, or was bent on making, some use of what I'd told her. Then the flash was gone, and she was looking thoughtfully down into the fire, smiling gently.

"That is a strange dream. Let us hope you aren't troubled by any more." 

Her eyes had come back to me, and she brushed the hair out of my face, examining me thoughtfully. Suddenly she pulled me to her, gathering me into her side, and winding her arms around me. I shivered and leaned my head against her shoulder.

"I am going to miss having you near me," Lady Briarwood murmured regretfully. "I'll be quite lonely without you, my dear."

I slowly relaxed, the tension draining out of my body as we sat in front of the fire. Lady Briarwood's undead attendant built up the flames, stirring the coals, and adding a new log. Bathed in the renewed firelight we sat, with me curled up next to Delilah, soaking in the heat. Already the nightmare was growing distant, fading into a few shattered images, that paled in comparison with the reality of sitting here. 

At last Lady Briarwood stirred, straightening up, and unwinding her arm from around my shoulders. I was colder without her, and I once more pulled my shawl close around me. Outside the night was less dark, still black, but more of a blue black as opposed to pure darkness. It must be nearly six in the morning. In the summer months the sun would be rising now, but as winter continued to deepen, the sun continued to rise later and set sooner. 

Life was beginning to stir within the castle. I could hear footsteps crossing the hall, passing swiftly back and forth, and under the door I could see the flicker of light. Through the sitting room window glittered torches, like tiny scattered stars, being lit in the courtyard. The time for the Briarwood's departure had come. 

Delilah rose, crossing the room to glance out of the window. I shrank closer to the fire, shivering, suddenly quite cold again. Professor Anders entered a moment later, advancing forward with a bow.

"All preparations are made ready, my lady. Lord Briarwood inquires whether you are ready to depart yet."

"Yes, I am quite ready, thank you Anders." 

The Professor bowed as she swept past him, a gesture that she hardly noticed, and Delilah flung back the doors to the sitting room, sweeping into the entrance hall. Silently Anders followed, and I rose too, keeping to out of the way and unnoticed. Lord Briarwood was standing in the center of the hall, and as Delilah entered, she went to him. 

Outside, at the bottom of the castle steps, illuminated by flickering torches in the pre-dawn blackness was a sleek travel carriage. Several guards flanked it, mounted on single steeds. They were very fine spirited animals, champing and fretting, eager to begin the journey. The carriage horses were a bit more steady, waiting patiently in their harness, their breath steaming in the winter chill. A young man of nineteen or so was perched on the driver's box, rubbing his fingers with the reigns lying loose in his lap, occasionally casting a glance at the other horses and their riders.

"Well my darling?" Silas said, looking down at his wife as she came up to him.

"I've made up my mind to the journey." She replied. "I'm quite ready to go as soon as you say we must." 

"Come then, before the sun rises."

Lord Briarwood quickly descended the castle steps, his muscular form fading into the shadows, leaving Lady Briarwood alone in the hall, for Anders had already retreated back upstairs. She hesitated for a moment, glancing around the hall, then held out her hand to me.

"Come and give me a farewell kiss, my dear." She said, and I obeyed. Quickly I kissed her on the cheek, a gesture that she bent to receive, and embraced her for a moment. 

"Stay out of trouble." Delilah said, laying her hands on my shoulders, then her face softened and she added "I'm going to miss you." 

Her hands dropped away, and she quickly followed after her husband, melting into the courtyard. With a quick step she mounted into the carriage, the footman shutting the door behind her and mounting onto his perch. The coachman cracked his whip, urging the horses into a trot, and the guards followed after, vanishing into the surrounding shadows.

***

The castle felt dull and lifeless without Lord and Lady Briarwood to give it vigor. Not that the castle had ever been very lively with them here. Compared to when my mother and father ruled, it was as bustling as a graveyard. But the Briarwood's sway over this castle had affected it completely, and it felt utterly desolate without them. 

It was not a pleasant place to live in. Haunted as it was by dead things, devoid of all life that had once occupied it, silent and lonely. In this silent place the sitting room had been my refuge, Delilah's tenderness my solace, her musical lessons my entertainment. Now I had no one. Anna Ripley and the Professor were the only two other living beings in this castle, and neither of them cared about me. 

Ripley spent all of her time alone these days, appearing only briefly at meals, and spending the rest of her time locked in her room, broken only by visits to the garden where she set off more explosions. At meals she was abstracted, eating hurriedly in silence, deeply absorbed in her private thoughts. The experiments in the garden were more frequent now that the Briarwoods were gone, and after every one she always came in swearing profusely, clearly frustrated about something. She was completely unaware of what went on around her, wrapped up in this project that devoured all of her attention. 

Even so, total indifference was better than animosity. Ripley cared nothing about me, beyond the inconvenience of my presence. Anders was different. In a spiteful way he cared very much about me, and even went out of his way to cause me some pain, to inflict some punishments that he felt I deserved. With the Briarwoods gone we were locked in a bitter rivalry, from which Anna was completely excluded, and which was mutually vicious on both sides. I hated him, and now that I was at last free to oppose him, I openly displayed my venom, doing everything in my power to hurt him in any way I could. 

But the balance of power was far more heavily shifted in the Professor's favor than mine. His influence was far greater, and he had a far greater ability to hurt me. I could annoy him constantly, inconvenience him at every opportunity, and because of Mother's training I was even able to cause some physical damage, but the advantage was clearly on his side. I was maddening to him, using every tiny annoyance to hurt him, chewing loudly when he was at the table, making noise while he was trying to write, standing just slightly in his way when he had to pass me. But his skill with magic made it easy for him to hurt me far more than any slight inconvenience I gave him. 

And he did hurt me. With Delilah gone Anders was once again my antagonistic guardian, and I spent all of my waking hours tethered to him, making our rivalry constant, and ongoing. Every day I was chained to him for hours, sitting in a corner of his study, watching him as he went about his business. Most of the time was spent in writing, sending letters to various people, or merely copying notes into ledgers of assorted sizes that he kept in his desk. 

Several letters he received during our time together were similar, and he was careful to never read them in my presence, always locking them in a hidden compartment in his desk. I had no way to read what was within the letters, but I made the stealthily observations I could. He was very quick to hide them, but gradually I perceived that they were all written on very good paper, sealed on the outside with red wax. Clearly they were letters from somebody important.

Days had been passed in this fashion, without any sign of change, and I had lost interest in the Professor's mysterious correspondent by this point. There was never an opportunity to read the letters, and I had memorized their outer appearance. When one of the servants entered, bearing another of these letters, I hardly noticed. Anders took it, and waved the thing away impatiently, once again locking the letter away in a drawer. At that moment a rumbling explosion ran through the castle walls, shaking in the stones of the surrounding hallways.

"What now..." The Professor grumbled angrily looking up at the ceiling as if he expected it to fall. Then he cast a surly glance at me, adding, "Not some of your troublemaking associates I suppose? I assume they would have told you if they were going to attack." 

I nodded my head. But the truth was that I had stopped writing Archibald. As soon as Silas left I couldn't find it in myself to continue, so I had no real way of knowing if it might not indeed be an attack on the castle. But the explosion had sounded closer than that, and from what I knew of the city, I guessed most people had given up on thoughts of overthrowing the Briarwoods long ago. There just wasn't enough hope to keep people fighting anymore. 

"Go and see what that is will you." The Professor snapped at the servant who was still standing at his side. 

But before the creature could do his bidding Anna burst into the room. She angrily flung the door open, half supporting herself against the wall, and breathing hard. Her sleeve on one side was scorched, the arm underneath badly burned, and she had that hand clamped under her other arm.

"Anders," She ground out through clenched teeth, her voice grimly composed. "I need your assistance if you please, as soon as possible." 

The Professor hastily rose, looking bewildered, and Ripley crossed the room to his desk. As she passed me I saw that her shirt was stained with blood underneath the left arm, spreading outward from the hand she had hidden in her armpit. The entirety of her left side was soaked with blood that was such a vivid crimson, it looked staged and fake, and I could see the stain rapidly spreading down her leg. 

"It was cauterized to a certain extent." She hissed as she brought her right hand out from under her arm. "But it's still bad."   
I felt my stomach curl into a knot as she brought her hand out, and gagged instinctively. Anna cast me a resentful look, but said nothing, and stoically waited for Anders to do something. Her hand was gone. There was nothing left but a bloody burned stump, some trailing strings of left over flesh, and part of the white shattered bone exposed. It was a sickening spectacle.

Strangely enough Anna hardly reacted at all, beyond the obvious physical pain it caused her. While I could see clearly that the stump was painful, it was difficult to tell if she even mourned the entire loss of a limb. She looked down at her own mangled arm completely unaffected by any aversion to the sight, as detached as she would have been if the wound belonged to someone else, and she even watched the bleeding with a kind of sterile curiosity. 

The professor reached out and shrinkingly clasped her arm, and Ripley flinched as his fingers touched the tender skin, letting out a sour hiss, as if she was annoyed at herself for showing the pain. Wrapping his hands completely around her wound, Anders drew in a long deep breath. I could almost feel the air warping as he drew it in, as if he was pulling the air around him into himself, leaving a hollow negative space. Then, shifting his hands so that there was a small hole between them, he breathed on Ripley's arm through the gap in his hands. 

With an impatient jerk, Anna ripped her arm away, looking down at what was left. Most of the stump had healed, leaving lumpy twisted scar tissue, but the burns were still fresh and irritated. Once again the Professor reached out to take her arm, but Ripley pulled away, giving him a forbidding look. 

"I deal with burns all the time," She said coldly. "This is nothing. Give me some bandages, and I can take care of it myself."

Doubtfully Anders gave her the supplies he had, and she threw herself in a chair by the fire, setting the roll of linen on one of the two small tables in the room, within arms reach of her. Out of a pocket somewhere she drew a small flask, which was filled with some kind of personal salve that she kept with her. Applying this to herself, she began to bind her arm, very neatly, and with obvious experience. 

"The experiment went badly then, I take it?" Anders said sarcastically, crossing his arms. Anna made no reply, and finished binding her arm mechanically, then sat staring blindly down into the fire for a moment.

"DAMN IT!!!" She burst out suddenly, seizing the leftover roll of bandage and flinging it across the room. Being nothing more than a roll of soft fabric, it didn't have quite the destructive effect intended, and only bounced harmlessly against the wall. Not satisfied with this lack luster conclusion, Ripley started out of her chair and upended the table with a loud crash.

"I'm so close!!!" She exclaimed angrily. "I can feel it! I'm almost there, it's on the tip of my tongue, I just can't grasp it! How the hell am I supposed to harness the explosion, without making it ineffective?!? It's fucking maddening!" 

She subsided, breathing heavily, and she reached up to run her hand through her hair, before realizing that her hand was gone. Remembering it she swore again, kicking at the table furiously. 

"Are you really as close as all that?" The Professor said skeptically. "You just blew your own arm off." 

"That was nothing. Experiments are hazardous, I'm aquatinted with the dangers, and fully resigned to the possible consequences. This was a stupid mistake. I was careless." She said, brushing his comment aside impatiently. "And I'm almost there. I have all the mechanisms, everything works smoothly, but this final problem just will not go away! I need a final piece, something thats missing." 

Turning back to his desk, Anders drew out the letter he had received. He broke the seal, thumbing though the pages, and plucked out one. I caught a brief glimpse of several sketches and some writing, then he rolled it up and tossed it to Ripley. 

"You can take a look at that, and see if it helps." He said carelessly as she unrolled it. "There are some descriptions in it, eye witness accounts, you might possibly find something useful. In all likely-hood it's just rubbish like the last ones..." 

The Professor's voice trailed away, looking doubtfully at Anna. She had frozen, staring at the paper. There was a half smile lingering at the corner of her mouth, and she had gone very white, her eyes eagerly devouring the paper's contents. She looked as shocked as if she had just read the secret to immortality. 

"That's brilliant..." She breathed. "Why didn't I think of that? He's fucking brilliant..." 

"Found something then?" 

Ripley made no answer, and only laughed haltingly, as if she were still in shock. Moving clumsily, without the dominant hand at her disposal, she rolled up the parchment again, still laughing helplessly. Forgetful of Anders and everything else around her, she rose from her seat, blindly making her way out of the room. Once again leaving the Professor and I alone, with no sound breaking the silence but the crackling of the fire.

***

That evening Ripley didn't come in to supper. She had been locked in her room ever since the incident that morning, and when the Professor sent up a servant to ask if she would be coming down, she sent it back with a shard of jagged scrap metal imbedded in the side of its neck. Clearly she couldn't be bothered with mundane concerns like eating. 

It was a very tense meal without her there, and I had taken great satisfaction in clattering my silverware as much as I could possibly manage, only to take the tiniest imaginable bite at the end of it. By the end of the meal I could tell that retribution was coming, for the Professor's hands were shaking. In a fearless kind of way I wanted him to. I was daring him to try it, and see how little of a difference it would make. But we were interrupted before the tussle could truly begin.

A sharp crack, sudden and startling, echoed out over the castle grounds. The other explosions set off by Ripley had all been deeper, while this was higher pitched, and more refined.  I jumped as I heard it, startled by the unexpected sound. The sound died away almost instantly, and I heard laughter after it. Moments later Anna burst into the room, flinging the doors wide, an uncontrollable smile lighting up her face. 

"Fucking finally!!!" She crowed, flinging a sheaf of papers, covered in cramped sketches and hasty writing, onto the table. After it she threw down a metal devise that thudded on the wood. The device was obviously a close copy of the sketches, similar to then in shape, although the proportions were different. Ripley was turning over plates and dishes on the table, apparently looking for one to suit some purpose she had in mind, and I took her distraction as an opportunity to get a closer look at her project.

It was roughly L shaped, with the short part carved to fit neatly into the hand. At the angle of the L there were four hollow chambers, that would spin if I made them, and looking inside I could see that they were coated in some kind of very fine black dust. The long branch of the L was formed by a fifth hollow tube, and it too was coated with this same dust. 

"Stupid girl, be careful with that!" Anna exclaimed sharply, jerking the devise out of my hand.

Casting me a disapproving look, she examined her creation carefully, as if afraid that I might have broken it. Satisfied that her project hadn't been harmed, she brought out a weighted leather pouch, that thudded loudly against the tabletop when she set it down, and from this pouch she drew out four round beads about the size of marbles. Holding the devise against her stomach with her maimed hand, she dropped the balls into the four hollow chambers with the other, making the whole show look surprisingly dextrous despite her missing hand. Then she clicked the chambers, so that they rested securely between the long and short branches of the imaginary L, and no longer spun freely.

"At last, a completed, functioning, gun." She said, displaying it as she spoke. After admiring her work for another moment, she seized a vase from the mantelpiece that dominated one wall of the dining room. Turning sharply on her heel, she grinned at us triumphantly, hissing exultantly, "Come, and see!"

In a moment she had vanished from the room, and the Professor quickly followed, with me trailing cautiously behind. Flinging back the double doors to the courtyard, Anna strode down the  wide front steps, and paused on the bottom step to set down the vase she had seized. She paused to consider the placement, then took off again, apparently satisfied.

"Come!" She called over her shoulder, beckoning impatiently. At last she stopped at a distance of some 30 yards, turning sharply on her heel, and looking across the courtyard at the vase, glimmering in the winter dusk. "Come and stand behind me." 

Anders obeyed her, and I faded off into the shadows, skirting the edge of the courtyard and lurking near the gate. I had long since learned that it was rarely safe for me to stand too close to the Professor, and mostly skirted him warily these days. With the Professor finally behind her, Anna squared her shoulders, breathing in an sharp breath of anticipation.

It was a very swift, fluid movement, almost too quick to take in completely. She raised her gun, the fingers of her hand fitting perfectly into the carven spaces for them, and the index finger wrapped around a switch piece that was molded to fit her finger. Stretching out her arm, perfectly straight, her eyes narrowed down the length of the barrel. 

In the half a second of tense silence, I saw her eyes narrow, as she took aim, then she pulled the switch, and the device went off. There was a flash of white flame and smoke, the gun let off a loud cracking explosion, and at the same moment the vase at the other end of the courtyard suddenly shattered. Pieces of glass went flying in all directions, the bottom of the vase sitting in the same spot on the castle steps, like a jagged crown made of painted glass. 

"Well?" Anna demanded of the Professor impatiently. "Is this not the greatest achievement of our kind thus far?" 

Anders had no answer. He was just as stunned as I was, staring at the shattered vase in the distance. It looked as if it had just broken instantaneously, with no visible cause that I could see, while Anna was standing almost a hundred feet away.    

"It is...Impressive..." He said at last, unable to find any other words.

"Impressive?!?" Ripley scoffed, tossing her head, and beginning to pace excitedly. "Do you have any idea what this invention could mean?! How much it could accomplish? This is a weapon unlike anything used before, unlike anything we've ever dreamed of! This could change everything about the way our wars are fought! In the right hands, this could change the world..." 

Her voice trailed away, and she stood lost in thought, gazing up at the darkening sky above the wall top. Winter stillness fell heavy over the courtyard as she stood calculating. Then her gaze refocused, her attention coming back to the courtyard, and she tossed her head to clear it. 

"You've seen what I wanted to show you." She said to Anders, her voice suddenly quite cold, and almost suspicious. "I have nothing more to say." 

Forgetting the Professor, and the broken vase, she crossed the courtyard again. Scaling the steps of the castle, she vanished within the darkness of the foyer, and shut the door behind her. Anders was left standing alone in the cold, and I faded back into the shadows of the gate, unwilling to recall his attention to me yet. But the Professor had forgotten me completely, and he made his way back across the courtyard without giving a second thought to me. I wasn't within sight of him, which made me non-existent. 

That left me alone, out in the rapidly descending winter dusk. All the guards, that were meant to be keeping watch, were huddled over the fire in the guardhouse. Like me, they guessed that the likelihood of an attack on the castle was remote. I was by myself, lurking under the shadow of the gate, glorying in my brief freedom. 

Only that sense of freedom could have made it seem like an inviting evening. The clouds had all lifted, releasing the trapped heat from underneath them, and it was bitterly cold. Most of the stars were pale and remote, hardly to be picked out against the inky blackness of the darkening night. The new moon was nowhere to be seen, dark and shrouded. 

The sound of someone hammering against the gate, loud and out of place in the utter silence, woke me from my reverie. With a start I recalled my surroundings, and I shivered. I was cold, numb, and chilled to the bone. Alone in the dark.

"Who's there?" I murmured, cautiously moving up to the gate, and pressing my hands against it.

"Cas?" It was Ivan's voice, but he sounded agitated, and his voice was shaking as if he were out of breath. "Thank Pelor it's you...Come outside, right now, I need to talk to you...please..." 

"Of course..." I stammered, confusion adding to the lump of dread in my stomach. Forcing the gate with all my strength, I managed to open it a crack. Squeezing through the tiny gap, I found myself alone with Ivan in the shadow of the gate, shivering as the night's chill soaked into me. 

He was breathing hard, gasping for air as if he had run all the way here, leaning against the gate for support. The simple clothes he wore were torn, and there were tiny scratches across his face. I had seen scratches like them before, for I had born similar ones on more than one occasion, and I knew that they meant he had been running through the woods very fast without any regard for what he ran through. He had no coat, and he was shivering uncontrollably, but not with cold.

"Ivan, what on earth is the matter? What's wrong?" I exclaimed upon taking in all this. He made no answer, standing mute and shivering, still gasping for air. Gently I took him by the arms, assuming a false air of disapproval, hoping vaguely that it would cheer him. 

"Stupid boy, you didn't even wear a coat! You'll catch your death of cold, wandering around in the dark like that, come inside at once and get warm." 

"N-no, I-I can't. I--" He broke off, too agitated, or too out of breath to continue. 

"They're all gone, nobody will care..." I said persuasively, trying to draw him through the gate. "Come inside, crazy idiot, and get warm! You'll feel better." 

"No, Cas! Listen to me!" He snapped, jerking his hands away. I shrank back, hurt and more than a little frightened by his savage words, for he had never spoken to me so harshly. Even when he had been angry with me, that had been concern on my behalf, this was different. The knot of dread in my midsection grew tighter. 

"I can't come inside, I just need..." His voice trailed away, and he drooped against the gate. 

"Ivan?" I murmured, touching his arm again, and forcing him to look at me.

"They k-killed...Father Rynoll is dead..."

Dead...I stumbled, falling to my knees in the middle of the muddy road. The Father, dead...Ivan wilted back into the gate, his slouching form only propped up by its solid mass supporting him. Tears stung my eyes, and I could feel the back of my throat burning, but for the first time in the years I'd known him, I was stronger than Ivan. I had already lost, many, many loved ones. And my family, my new family, were still safe. I could survive this. He was utterly overcome, while I still had, if not the focus to throw off grief entirely, than enough to act, to question, to understand. 

"How?" I demanded coldly, careful to keep my voice devoid of emotion. "What happened." 

"I-I don't-" 

"You'll have to face it Ivan, you'll feel better when you do. What happened?" 

"Nothing..." He replied, shaking his head hopelessly. "We did nothing. They just, attacked because they wanted to." 

"Who?"

"Count Tyleeri's men I think...They were all drunk, passing around bottles and laughing, hacking up the pews for fun, throwing rocks through the windows. And they just, killed him. Just for fun..." His voice died away again, and I knew that only my resolve would force him to continue. 

"How did you escape?" I prodded.

"I wasn't there...I should have been there. I should have known...Somehow...He sent me to minister to a family in the city, and I didn't know until I came back." 

"And did they see you?" I said at last. "Are they looking for you?"

"I--I don't, I don't know..."

"Ivan, are they looking for you?" I said again, rising from the ground, seizing him by the shoulders, and forcing him to look at me. "Talk to me Ivan."

"Th--they saw me--" He whispered, his speech stumbling and broken. "I--I ran. I don't remember. I was...They were shouting, and I ran...I just, I think they chased me for a bit, they didn't want me to get away. I couldn't fight them, it was too late. He was already...Already dead..." Suddenly Ivan dropped, falling into a limp heap against the gate. 

I sank down with him, propping him up as best as I could. He made no resistance as I moved him, passively allowing me to warm his hands, and tuck them between his curled up legs and his stomach. My own hands were numb with cold, but I did my best to warm him anyway.

"Now I want you to stay right here," I instructed him sternly, once this was done. "I'm going to leave you for a minute, can you wait here for me to come back?"

Dumbly Ivan nodded, paying almost no heed to what I said, but as I drew away he released my hand somewhat reluctantly. It was a small gesture, but it heartened me. Slithering back through the gate, I set off across the courtyard, moving as swiftly and silently as possible. Passing into the foyer, I flitted around the edges of the silent hall, gracefully scaling the grand staircase. I reached my room, swiftly let myself it, shut the door behind me, and paused with my back to the door. 

One thing was clear to me at this moment. Ivan had to leave the valley. Maybe Father Rynoll's killers were looking for him, or maybe they had abandoned the hunt as soon as it required any kind of real effort. I didn't know. But I could see that Ivan shouldn't stay here. There was no place for him in the castle: surrounded by these people that hated me, even if I wished to have him. And he couldn't return to the temple, both because he might be hunted, but more importantly because there were too many memories there. It would serve him better if he left the valley entirely, before anybody could miss him.

Even as I made the decision on his behalf, I wanted to unmake it. Five years he'd been a dear friend to me, what would I do without him? But it was for the best. It was what was best for him, and that mattered more than my own personal desires.   
My resolve hardened, and I stepped away from my bedroom door, moving to gather together the scanty provisions I could give him. I seized a winter cloak, throwing it over my arm, and a dusty leather satchel that was lying forgotten at the bottom of my wardrobe. Last of all, I gathered up the few scanty gold pieces I had, the last remnants of my pocket money from years and years ago, and tied them together in a handkerchief. 

With these few supplies, I stealthily made my way back downstairs. In the dining room I paused, scavenging from the leftover meal some of the less perishable items, and I stuffed them into the satchel I had brought to serve as a makeshift travel pack. Finally I abandoned the dinning room, crossing the entrance hall and courtyard with the same silent speed that I had before. Ivan was sitting in the exact same spot against the gate, face buried in his knees, still shivering violently.

"Now listen up," I said, shaking him out of his stupor none to gently, and rubbing him vigorously to get him warm again. "Here's a cloak, you put it on right now. I've got food, and a little money, take them...That's right...Now you listen carefully to what I'm going to say. Are you listening?" 

Once again Ivan nodded dumbly, still shivering, and I felt my heart warm as he gathered his cloak closer around him. That was good, very good. It was all the answer I would get, but it was enough to convey that he was listening, and understood what I was saying.  

"I want you to get out of the valley." I said sternly, my tone inflexible, and uncompromising. "Get over the fords, and head for Swiftshore, you'll be safe there. Don't worry about me, don't think about the Father, don't think about all the people in the city. I'll be all right, and I'm sure Keeper Yennin and Archibald will look out for the people, but you've got to take care of yourself. Go now, while you still can. Understand me?"  

Another dumb nod. I seized Ivan's arms, and drew him to his feet, tucking his cloak in closer around him, and checking to make sure his travel pack was securely fastened. With this done, I kissed him farewell on the cheek.

"Travel during the day, it's safer." I instructed him. "Keep away from everybody, and don't ever travel after the sun goes down. They'll only find you sooner if you do."

Ivan didn't say anything, but he gave my hand a weak squeeze, that meant 'Thank you, Cas.' I sniffed, half laughing at the drops on my cheeks.

"Stay safe." I said, trying to be brisk. "I would hate for you to get killed...Dressing up for your funeral would be more trouble than you're worth..."

A last short hug, our breath steaming out into the cold, then Ivan drew away. I shrank back into the shadows, and watched his retreating figure, until at last the night shadows swallowed him. As he disappeared, I suddenly became aware of myself again, standing out here in the cold. I was chilled to the bone, alone in the dark...


	14. Policies Gone Amiss

We're running.

I hear it behind me. Right behind me. The breath like fire in my lungs, the fear like a wolf at my back. I can feel his hand in mine, the fingers laced with mine, the skin burning like mine. We're running. It's right behind me, it's before me, it's running with me. 

At my side he stumbles, I see blood, I see fire, I see him. He is all I see. He falls, his hand torn away from mine. I see his blood, I feel his chest heaving beneath my hands, his blood burns my skin, his breath scorches my face. We're burning alive.  
It's behind me, right behind me. I know it's coming. I feel it coming. The hunger, the death, the longing. It's always coming.

And he is burning, I cannot save him. I can only run. 

"No! Cassandra don't leave me, please!" 

"I can't Percy, I'm sorry."

"Cassandra, please!" 

I'm running. I stumble, and fall, and rise, and fall again, and rise again. I must rise. It is behind me. And it is coming: the death, the fire, the faces, the blood. I'm running from it, I'm running towards it, it's running with me. 

The edge, the fall, the fire. I must jump. The trees have fallen away, my breath is like fire. It pursues me still. I jump. Off the cliff, off the edge of the world. The river lies below. The river, the freedom, the escape. 

And I fall, into the river, into the blood, into the fire. Into a river of blood. I rise, I gasp, I struggle, my is breath ripped away. I cannot breathe. The world is red around me, the blood drags me under. It chokes me, it thunders in my ears. 

I'm burning alive...

***

Reality came back with a shock. I was lying on my back in bed, breathing hard, staring up at my darkened ceiling. There was no sound in the darkness but the rush of my own agitated breathing, heaving in and out. The bedclothes felt sticky, clinging to my skin, which was covered in a cold sweat. I shook off the blankets, and sat up, burying my face in my hands, trying to rub the ache out of my eyes. 

This dream was worse than the others. They were always worse, every time, as if they were growing more specific the longer I had them. And this time I'd dreamed about Percy. I'd left him, like he'd left me: terrified and bleeding, dying alone in the dark...I couldn't shake off the guilt, and go back to sleep...

It was terrifying, because I found myself wanting to remember, wanting to dwell on it. Everything was so blurred now, it had been so long since I had been able to picture their faces clearly anymore. There was a partially burned portrait of my old family, stuffed into one of the drawers of the dressing table, but the faces were faded, just pictures in a painting. 

The dream had been lifelike, more animated, more vivid. In the dream I hadn't exactly seen his face. His form in the dream had no features, but he felt real. My own unconscious colored him more vividly, and captured the feeling of his presence, without needing all the hard details of reality. 

But the longer I sat, alone in the dark, with my hands pressed into my eyes, the less real the dream seemed. Already the feeling was slipping away. Like cupping water in my hands, it was fading so fast, I couldn't retain it. It was gray and colorless, and the images paled when held up against the real world. 

My brother was dead. My mother and father, my sisters and brothers, they were all dead. And I knew a dream couldn't bring them back. I had a new family now, and they were all that really mattered anymore. Thrusting the dream from my mind, I collapsed back against my pillow, staring blindly up at the darkened ceiling, and passively waited for sleep to come. 

It was perfectly silent. Even the slightest rustle sounded almost fake, too close, too sharp, too flat. It was smothered by the larger stillness, lurking over the rest of the castle, like something physical pressed against your ears. Footsteps were deafening in that kind of quiet, and as I heard a pair of feet shuffle past in a nearby corridor, I was instantly aware of them.  
Gathering a shawl around myself, I skipped out of bed. It was too quiet to sleep, and nobody should be moving at this hour. Something was going on. There was no bustle, no shouting, but there were footsteps, and the air felt different.

I slithered out of my door, and pulled it almost closed behind me, careful to keep the latch from clicking. Out in the hallway the air was refreshingly cold, and in the darkness I felt alive. These shadows had become my refuge, I felt safer here, confident in my ability to go unnoticed.

One of the dead servants was shuffling along the passageways, illuminated by the shuddering light of a lantern, its head rolling as it walked, like a newborn baby that couldn't support the weight of its own head. The creature was utterly oblivious to me, and I flitted along behind it, my feet making no noise against the floor. Keeping back in the shadows, I watched its progress. 

Unerringly, the creature traced a straight path towards the back of the castle. At last it reached the end of the gallery, turned down a wide corridor, and stopped in front of the Professor's study. There was a flash of bright lamplight as the creature went in, I heard a low murmur that I recognized as Ander's voice, then the door closed, and the passageway went dark. Patiently I settled down in the shadows, just waiting.

My wait was not a long one, in only a few moments the servant reappeared, escorting the Professor. He looked hurried, less groomed than usual, dressed only in a nightshirt, and long silk dressing gown which he was hastily tying around himself. Shutting the door of his study behind him, Anders impatiently gestured for the servant to walk ahead of him. Obediently the creature lit the way for him, and the two set off down the corridor, moving towards the servants stairs. Silently I followed behind, like a secondary shadow. 

They quickly passed down the back stairs, and I paused for a few moments, to make sure I wouldn't meet them in the dark. Finally I descended after, and trailed behind them, as they stepped out into the hallway, and set off again. This journey went quicker, for they only went a short distance before they reached the entrance to the cellar, and here they turned again. 

Vaguely I could begin to guess what the hurry was for. This had something to do with the Ziggurat and the Briarwood's secret project, it was important, it meant something. Extremely cautious, I followed as they descended the stairs, careful to linger near the top of the steps until they had reached the bottom. Then I crept down, relying on my sense of touch in the blind darkness, running my hand along the wall. As I reached the foot of the stairs, the dusty smell of old wine bottles tickled my nose, and the air (which was cool even in the summer) was now shockingly cold. 

Ahead of me I could see the lantern light bobbing among the racks of wine, as Anders and his escort made their way through the cellar, and continued down into the mausoleum. Here I paused, torn by indecision. This was becoming a little dangerous. It would be much harder to retreat from the mausoleum, and there was too much risk of being caught in such a narrow space, where there were fewer shadows, and fewer places to hide. 

Before I could work up the courage, or foolhardiness, to continue, I heard voices. Footsteps, more than two, echoed below me, and I saw light beginning to creep around the curve of the stairs. At once I beat a hasty retreat, retracing my steps through the cellar, and hastening back up the stairs to the castle's main floor. Once there I ducked into one of the laundry rooms across the hall: a long room that had a sharp tang of soap, and was full of racks for drying linens. Pressing my back against the wall next to the door, I waited. 

A few moments later I heard footsteps reach the top of the stairs, and a thin band of torchlight filtered through the cracks of the almost closed door at my side. As they drew within earshot I made out Ander's voice, speaking with that too familiar servile inflection.

"This certainly is a surprise! I was told to expect your return several weeks from now, but seeing that you're here, I can't tell you how glad I am to welcome you back. Everything has been kept in readiness, and I hope you will find everything in order--" 

"A single moments silence, if you please Anders!" Lady Delilah's voice cut in, sounding irritated, and even less tolerant of the Professor than usual. "It has been an extremely trying evening, I am trying to gather my thoughts, and your constant inane prattle is doing very little to aid the endeavor. Have the goodness to desist for a moment. Please!" 

Sullen silence fell, and for a moment I couldn't make out any other sound. The torchlight was still flickering through the crack in the door, sending a long beam of yellow light across the piles of folded linen, and empty washing tubs.

"Very well." Delilah said after a moment, her voice brisk and businesslike. "If we are to make proper preparations, everyone must be warned, as soon as possible. Anders, if you would like to make yourself useful for once, you may get in touch with Sir Kerrion, Vedmire, and the rest. Tell them that I must speak with them urgently." 

"At least let it wait until the morning." Lord Briarwood said, striking in for the first time, and speaking quite decidedly. "My darling it's been a difficult evening, we've had a strenuous tussle, if you take a little rest you'll be better equipped to face tomorrow with a clear judgment. Even if they could fly, they couldn't reach us tonight. We have time. You must rest." 

"I am quite rested, thank you very much." Lady Briarwood replied acidly, with a scornful laugh. "How could I be otherwise, when we have accomplished nothing, my darling?" 

"You know that is far from true." Silas said mildly, with what I thought was surprising tolerance for his wife's sour mood. "Emperor Uriel is under my influence, which was the only purpose to our dinner with him. Not only that, but that meddlesome Seeker Asum has been dealt with as well. I will admit that we did not entirely succeed, and there is still some danger, but it can certainly wait until you have had some rest."

"I suppose you're right." Delilah conceded at last, with a sigh. "It has been a very long day...In that case, Anders, the meeting can wait till the morning, but I must meet with the nobles tomorrow."

"Yes my lady." 

"I am going to bed." Lady Briarwood continued seamlessly. "And this time, I swear, I will kill the next person to disturb me." 

The chink of light shifted, as the torches moved away up the passage outside the door, until at last they were cut off entirely. Once again complete darkness fell over this wing of the castle, at last the sound of footsteps faded away, and that stiflingly heavy silence fell once again. I was still pressed up against the wall, the beat of my heart slowing as the danger of immediate discovery passed.

I mustn't let them know I was here. Of course I wanted to see Silas and Delilah again, as soon as possible, but they couldn't know that I had been poking around in the middle of the night. I would get in trouble if they knew. The best course of action would be to go back upstairs to my room, rise again at my usual time, and pretend that I had never left during the night at all. 

Stealthily I pulled away from the wall, and opened the laundry door slightly. Only black stillness greeted me, and cautiously I stepped out into the hallway, making my way back to my room. The hallways were all empty, and it was easy to make it back without alerting anybody. As I reached my room I quickly pushed through the slightly open door, closed it completely behind me, shed my wrapper on the floor, and slithered back into bed. 

For a long time I lay awake, unable to sleep with all the whirling thoughts in my head. But at last fatigue took over, and I dropped asleep again, oblivion claiming me until the morning. When I finally came back to consciousness the sun had risen, a long strip of sunlight peeking through my window curtain, and laying down a strip of glowing light across the floor. 

Swinging my feet out of bed I rose and dressed, hurriedly donning one of my gowns, and doing my hair with my head craned to one side. At last made presentable, I went down to breakfast, careful to act just as usual. Ripley had come down this morning, neatly groomed as if she had risen early, and was already managing to complete mundane tasks using only her left hand. The Professor was not there, but appeared ten minutes after I did, accompanied by Lady Briarwood. 

"You're back!" I exclaimed, leaping out of my chair when they came into the room, and I impetuously embraced Delilah. "I thought you weren't coming back for another week at least!" 

"Well, I got bored of all the travel, and I missed all the home comforts. So we returned early." 

Drawing away from my embrace, Lady Briarwood sat down to breakfast, and I sank into a chair next to her. Anders served himself from the sideboard, and then immediately left the room, taking his victuals with him. Probably leaving, I guessed, to deliver Lady Briarwood's message to the New Nobles. 

"Welcome home." Anna said coldly, as soon as Anders had gone, taking a dainty sip from her glass. 

"Thank you," Lady Briarwood returned, equally unconcerned, then she suddenly noticed that Anna was eating with the wrong hand, and frowned. "I believe you are not left handed, doctor." 

"I completed my project, but there was a...Small complication..." Ripley said, holding up her missing hand, and letting out a sour laugh. "The price of invention, as you see." 

"How unfortunate." Delilah said, not sounding very enthusiastic. 

"You came back early." Ripley said curtly, breaking the long silence, that had slowly been growing more painful. "I assume there was a good reason for it, that you are going to share at the earliest opportunity." 

"It will be explained soon enough, Sir Kerrion and the others have been called for a meeting, and I will elaborate then."

"I will look forward to it," and with these words, Ripley abandoned the table, leaving me alone with Delilah. 

"Did something happen?" I asked, voice heavy with concern. "Are we in danger?" 

"Of course not my dear," Lady Briarwood said with a smile, as she patted my hand comfortingly. "There may be a little scuffle, but it's nothing more than a minor inconvenience, and you needn't be worried for our well being. I promise you, we will be quite safe, don't you worry."

"Of course..."

I lapsed into silence, absentmindedly picking at my meal. Delilah ate, quite unconcerned, and I watched her, lost in thought as I followed the movements of her hands. Ten minutes later the door behind me opened, and Silas entered, with the Professor following in tow. Lord Briarwood looked tired, as if he hadn't slept for a few days, his eyes a little red, and his skin paler than before, if that was even possible. 

"You. Get out. Now." He barked at me shortly, waving me away toward the door, and I quickly hastened to obey. Anders followed after me, his presence reinforcing the command to leave, and he shoved me through the door into the entrance hall. 

A small group of people were standing in the hall, looking around absently, as if they were waiting for something. Sir Kerrion was there, his hair tousled and boyish looking, a dark blue cloak carelessly thrown over one shoulder. He was talking quietly to a stooped elderly man, in rough-spun brown robes, with a ratty pigtail of thinning gray hair at the back of his neck. 

Count Tyleeri stood nearby, a rotund fat man with pasty skin, like a giant walking ball of dough, overdressed in magnificent court costume. But despite the rolls of fat, and round weak chin, underneath his feathered hat his eyes were glittering with a sharp insatiable intelligence. He was endeavoring to hold a conversation with Ripley, who was standing near him, but she was hardly listening, and abandoned his side the moment the door opened. As for Anna herself, she looked exactly the same as she had at breakfast, save that her sour expression of the morning had deepened, and settled more firmly into her face.

The last two individuals were completely apart, both from everybody else, and each other. A swarthy muscular woman lounged in the corner, running the sharp tip of a feathered arrow over her palm, not deep enough to cut. It was easy to see from her features, which were a grayish green, the coarse tangle of greasy black hair, and her sharp protruding jowls, that she had very prominent Orc blood in her. And last of all, towering over the rest, was Gorron Vedmire. He was huge, standing almost two feet taller than anyone else in the room, his broad muscled chest just barely obscured by a leather jerkin, and his exposed skin was  a strange stony grayish white. The surface of his round head was completely hairless, his smooth beardless face scored by an array of milky white scars, and the arch of his nose was twisted as if it had been broken many times. 

The Professor pushed me out into the hall, then held open the door, and beckoned to the waiting visitors, saying "Come, Lady Briarwood will see you now."

Ripley stepped forward first, with an impatient snort, and the others followed, pushing into the dining room as Anders held open the door for them. As they entered I heard Delilah's voice for a moment, saying pleasantly "Welcome, thank you for coming, please make yourselves comfortable. I appreciate your punctuality..." Then Anders closed the door, and I was left alone in the hall. 

After standing for a moment in silence, I came to my senses, and crossed the foyer to the sitting room. This room was empty, illuminated by a low fire on the hearth, and the watery winter sunlight that filtered through the large windows. Resigning myself to another long wait, I settled down on a low ottoman, and watched the dancing flames.

A long silence fell over the castle, and I burned with curiosity to know what they were talking about in the dining room, but I knew better than to try and listen. The ever changing dance of the flames was mesmerizing, and I had slowly dropped into a trance by the time something happened again. A loud crash startled me out of my daze, as Ripley flung back the dining room door, and stormed into the entrance hall. 

"Very wise I'm sure, to brazenly invite them into our very home," Anna fumed. "I'm sure that was flawless judgement on your part Delilah, really, absolutely flawless. Fucking magic users! I've had quite enough for one day."

With these words Ripley stormed away, disappearing from view as she headed for her room. The half orc woman appeared a moment later, Gorron Vedmire following her. She grinned at him with a kind of fierce understanding, absentmindedly running the arrow tip over her nose, mouth, and chin, as they both made made their way out of the castle into the courtyard. After her, Sir Kerrion and his lackey exited the castle, both conversing urgently in low voices. When Anders appeared, he was deep in thought, and blindly made his way upstairs, clearly caring very little where his feet took him. Last of all, Silas, Delilah, and Count Tyleeri entered the hall together.

Lord Briarwood hastily drew Tyleeri aside, speaking to him under his breath. Then he released the Count's arm, and he too left the castle. For a moment it looked as if Delilah was going to retreat upstairs too, then Lord Briarwood seized her arm, detaining her. He spoke very softly, but through the acoustics of the entrance hall, I could just hear him. 

"My darling, you and I should have a quick word." 

Moving very cautiously, I crept up to the sitting room door, so that I could hear better.

"A word? My love?" Delilah returned, looking up at him with a smile. 

"Our project." Silas murmured, and instantly Lady Briarwood's face hardened, her attention fixed on him. 

"This is not the place!" She hissed angrily. "It is not to be spoken of." 

"Why can't we finish it now?" He said, carelessly brushing aside her comment. "We have no more time to wait. If we do not complete it soon, we risk utter failure, and that is an unthinkable prospect." 

"Of course I want to finish it!" She snarled back. "Do you think I would hesitate, if it were possible? It cannot be done. We must wait, there is no other choice."

She tried to pull away from Silas, but he resolutely gripped her arm, as easily resisting her attempts to free herself as he always had with me. 

"If we were forced," He rasped, "if there was no other choice. Could you do it?" 

"I don't know." Lady Briarwood said desperately, suddenly going limp in his arms, and crumpling into him. "I don't have that power, it would take a greater gift than what I now have to give. Only months of preparation have made this possible, and even with all the time we have left, it will only just be enough. I can't force it, I would need something more for that." 

"But if you had it: a greater gift, a greater sacrifice. If you could make a sacrifice powerful enough, would you be able to achieve it?" 

"Maybe!?" She exclaimed impatiently. "I don't know." 

"If you gave up something truly dear to you, if you sacrificed something you loved."

"I don't know..." 

"You did all this for me..." Silas murmured, his voice suddenly breathtakingly gentle, and he forced her to look up at him. "Do you regret it now, giving so much for me? Am I not enough to comfort you anymore? Do you need more that I can give?"

"Of course I don't regret it..." Delilah whispered, leaning her head against his arm. "I would give up anything for you." 

"Then sacrifice this Plaything you've become so fond of. You can't shelter your little pet forever."

Delilah made no answer, but silently hovered in her husband's embrace for a moment. When she drew away her face was unreadable, and she slowly detached herself from Silas, making her way out into the castle grounds. Lord Briarwood watched her go, his eyes calculating, then he smiled and retreated upstairs, his mind turning to other things. 

I remained in the sitting room. There was nowhere else to go, at the moment Anders had forgotten about me, his mind was on other matters, and as long as I stayed out of his way I could be reasonably sure it would remain that way. I was sick of the Professor, and was glad to catch up any chance of avoiding him. The sitting room was very large and empty, but nobody came in or out, if I wanted to stay out of the way, it was a good place to do it.

By the time Lady Briarwood returned to the castle, several hours had passed, and the long shadows of early evening were closing in. Where she had been all that time, I couldn't guess, but she looked more composed than she had in the morning, and sat down at her needlework just as usual. She didn't speak to me, but she didn't order me from the room either, and I settled on a nearby chair, tucking my feet up and amusing myself with a book from one of the shelves. 

Reading was not something I greatly enjoyed, and this book had very little interest to me, being a book that had no practical use. The moment another form of amusement presented itself, I eagerly took it up, and completely forgot my book. It was Anders, who came quietly down the stairs, and began to peek through the various doors that lined the other side of the hall. He had been a resident of this castle since before I was born, it was not possible that he had lost his way. He didn't find what ever he was looking for, and he crossed to this side of the foyer. I quickly went back to my book, and a moment later he glanced through the open sitting room door, his face lighting up when he saw Lady Briarwood. 

"My Lady..." He said, entering with his head half bowed. 

"Yes, Anders? What is it?" 

"It's Ripley my lady." Anders replied, with a kind of vicious satisfaction, and Delilah immediately looked up with sharpened attention. "If my eyes do not deceive me, she is at this moment making preparations to leave the valley."

"I see...How unfortunate..." Lady Briarwood said, smiling slightly, and looking thoughtfully down into the fire.

Silence fell, which neither Anders nor I dared to disturb, and we both sat waiting for Delilah's verdict. At last she straightened in her seat, and instantly the Professor's anticipation sharpened.

"Very well, if she has forced our hand, I see that we have no other choice...Anders, if you would be so kind as to fetch her, and bring her to me. You may take some of the servants to aid you if you think her likely to resist. We must have done with this at once. Don't delay." 

"Yes my lady!" Anders said, with the eagerness of a dog who senses an impending meal, and he hurried from the room. 

Lady Briarwood quietly put away her needlework, working methodically, and never even casting a glance at me. Either she had forgotten I was there, or this was one conversation that I was permitted to witness. I quietly took up my post at the window seat, out of the way, but still present. Delilah, after packing away her embroidery, moved to the fire, and stood in front of the hearth, looking thoughtfully down into the flames. 

"Here she is my lady!" The Professor said, coming back into the room, and holding the door open. 

A moment later two of the servants appeared, bearing hostage between them Anna Ripley. She looked vexed, her hair and clothes a little ruffled, her chin higher than usual, and her green eyes blazing. At a gesture from Anders, the third servant who trailed in last, closed the door as it entered, standing between Ripley and the door. But Ripley made no attempt at escape, and stood between her two captors, quite composed. 

"The professor here tells me that you have decided to leave us," Lady Briarwood said with an icy smile, "why is this?"

"I've completed my end of the bargain, in case you had forgotten that." Anna said, her voice sharp with cold fury. "Having done what you asked, I am now, by your own words, free to go. Well then, why am I being detained? For my part, I decline to remain, in the light of your changed circumstances. It is my strict policy, not to linger where conflict is impending."

"We are not finished yet." Lady Briarwood said dismissively. "We may yet have need of you." 

"You asked me to develop a compound that could distill the whitestone of this mountain range down into its pure magical essence. Having done that, I see no reason for me to remain. I have no interest in your project, beyond the technical challenge you presented me, and have no interest in your own private schemes. For my part, I am not so foolish as to underestimate this danger, and I would rather be far away. I have completed the task you presented me, and been rewarded for it, now let me go."

"As I said before, we are not yet finished." Lady Briarwood said, seemingly paying little to no heed to Anna's words. "And until we are, you must remain. The secrecy of our business here is a delicate matter, and your clumsy wit would not handle it with the needed care, therefor I must take it for you." 

"I have just as much reason as you to keep this matter quiet." Anna shot back. "Having witnessed your bloody capture of this castle, tortured the family and their servants for information, and aided you in foiling the two attempted uprisings, I am far from wishing to publish the matter abroad. I am quite content to keep my silence, without any urging from you." 

"I have no love of cowards." Lady Briarwood hissed, her voice suddenly venomous, and she crossed the room to stand in front of Anna. "And even less for those who serve only their own self interest. You have proved yourself to be both, and I must admit myself...disappointed...I did hope you would at least have the intelligence to remain here without any urging from me. As you have chosen to flee instead, I see that we will have to force you to remain against your will. A shame really...still, you'll make a better offering than a fisherman...Take her away."

Lady Briarwood waved the servants away, and they obeyed her gesture, dragging Anna from the room. She made no protest as she was removed, and never made the slightest attempt to struggle, passively allowing herself to be led away. Anders watched with a scornful smile, but Delilah went back to the fire, looking down into the dancing flames thoughtfully. The door shut, and once again, it was Anders, Delilah, and I, alone.

"Go and make sure she's locked securely in the dungeon." Delilah said to Anders, without looking at him, still standing in front of the hearth. "I wouldn't put it past Anna to keep some trickster's tools with her, as insurance against just this sort of occasion. Make sure she doesn't have any such supplies available to her."

"Yes my lady." Anders said, bowing, and moving toward the door.

"And Professor, one last thing," Delilah said, turning away from the fire, and stopping Anders in the sitting room door. "Make sure she's not too comfortable. I'm sure Anna can manage without the finer luxuries in life, if you understand me..."

"Yes my lady..." The Professor said with a smile, and he left the room.

With a smile of dark satisfaction, Delilah resumed her seat next to the fire, taking up her embroidery. Humming contentedly she threaded a needle, and sat perfectly content. Dusk slowly fell outside the sitting room windows, the winter sunlight fading to bruised dusk, as chill air filtered through the glass and soaked into my skin. Torches in the courtyard caught my attention, and Delilah looked up as their flickering illumination pierced through the windows.

"Ah, yes, finally..." She said briskly, rising from her chair, and moving towards the sitting room door. Silently I abandoned my post at the window seat, and followed her as she crossed the foyer, and left the castle. She was greeted on the steps by Sir Stonefell, who met her with a jovial grin, and a gallant bow.

"My lady..."

"Well, did you fetch them?" Lady Briarwood said, carelessly brushing his greeting aside, and looking over his shoulder at the courtyard.

"I have them here, ready for inspection, my lady."

"Show me."

Several stretchers had been laid side by side on the stones of the courtyard, each one covered by a piece of rough cloth, but even through the fabric the muffled forms of several human figures could be seen. As Kerrion descended the castle steps he gestured to his men, who were little more than thugs in dark leather armor, and they quickly removed the coverings revealing the spectacle underneath. Several dead bodies, the corpses almost lifelike under the torchlight, were stretched out in the courtyard.

One was clearly no more than a child, the tiny body dressed up in a silk shirt that was far too large. The others were all adults, a dark haired man and woman, a man closer to middle age, a third man with red skin, and a second woman with red hair. All five had been dressed up, their clothes ill fitting and too large on most of them, while the clothes on the middle aged body were too small. Beside this, what at first had seemed like red skin on the male body, I could now see was rusty red paint that has been smeared across his skin, and the red hair of the woman was nothing more than paint hastily worked into hair that was really a much darker color.

Delilah looked at these scattered bodies, quite composed, and slowly moved closer to get a better look at them. Bending over the red haired woman, Lady Briarwood turned the face, examining it, then touching the painted hair. Standing, she cast one last look over all the bodies, before turning back to Sir Kerrion.

"Hang them on the Suntree," she commanded ruthlessly. "You can cut down the other bodies to make room."


	15. The Deadly Rumor

Rain splattered against the windows. Swollen gray rivulets trickling down the glass, making the world outside shadowy and blurred. The icy snow and powdery dirt of the garden were slowly melting together into sludge, a dead expanse of creeping ashy slime, out of which the trees thrust like withered hands. I had never thought the garden so dreary. 

It was too quiet. This room had always been still, left quiet an untended, only opened on high days of celebration. But it had never been lonely, only very solemn. Now it was icy cold, as if nobody would ever enter it again. 

The seamlessly smooth floor spread out in all directions, unencumbered by tables or other crowding furniture, completely featureless from one end to the other. Long heavy red velvet draperies were hung by the windows, shadows lurking within the thick folds, all the gold tassel trimmings faded and covered in dust. Overhead loomed three vast gold chandeliers, cold and unlit. A wide ornate fireplace stood at one end of the long room, but it was also long dead, the hearth cleaned and bare. Watery sunlight was the only illumination that filtered through the towering windows along one side of the room.

Professor Anders was busy in his study, and Lord and Lady Briarwood were both down in the Undercroft, wrapped up in their mysterious project under the castle. Which left me free to wander about as I pleased, and I had found myself drawn to this room, in a mood to dwell on the past for a moment. Alone in the silence of the empty hall, I was free to meditate. 

I had always loved this room. It was so rarely opened, and when it was, that meant there was going to be a party. When this room had been used, I always got to stay up hours past my proper bedtime, and eat as many sweets as I could manage to keep down. Both very trivial reasons to love this room, but like a every small sinner I couldn't have imagined any better. At that time staying up late and eating what wasn't good for me were both the keenest joys in life...I could hardly even remember the dancing now. Both the music and the people were blurred, of less importance to my small mind than the food, and how much I could get of it. 

The dimness of the memories stirred a faint feeling of regret, even while I smiled indulgently at what I could recall. I would have liked to remember more, if I could. But it was all so far away, and long ago, the half formed recollections of a very small child. I remembered my brother Julius, both the tallest and the oldest of the seven of us, taking me for a romp on his broad shoulders; and a half remembered vision of Father inviting me to dance, rose to the surface. The memories made me smile, but I would have liked to have more of them. 

A distantly tolling bell broke my train of thought, recalling me back to the present, and as I listened to it I felt my emotions shift from regret to a strange sense of dread. The bell sounded familiar. I had heard it before. With a quick step I strode from the hall, leaving it to the silence, and I hastened toward the western side of the castle. 

Pushing through the castle's narrow back passages, I reached a door and stepping through it, found myself at the bottom of a circular tower of winding steps. I was at the bottom of the West Tower. Hastily climbing upwards, after a full circuit I found myself on another landing, where another door in the tower opened onto the second floor. But the door was shut, and I continued climbing, meeting no more landings as I continued upwards. This slope was much longer, and my chest was just beginning to burn as I reached the top, where the stairs ended in a tiny round room with one door. I found the door unlocked, and I quietly slipped out. 

The wide top of the tower was deserted, hedged in by a stone balustrade through which the rainwater trickled, falling down eighty feet or more to the stone roof of the rest of the castle. I felt my stomach flip uncomfortably, looking at the gaping depth beneath me, feeling both exposed and unbalanced on the rain washed stone. Lingering close to the center of the tower, I turned to look back south, toward the distant smudge of Whitestone in the rain. 

Very little could be seen, but in the open air I could hear the urgently ringing bell much more clearly, and the sound made my heart drop. It was the fire bell, sounded when flames broke out in the city. The last time I had heard that bell, it had been tolling over a raging inferno, lighting up the descending shadows from underneath, as the city slowly crumbled into ash.

I could see almost nothing of the city below through the rain, many of the buildings still fire blackened, or repaired into poor but livable shelters. Over them I could vaguely guess the shapes of the grand houses, where the New Nobles lived in luxury over the people. Dim, hardly more than a distant smudge, I thought I could guess at a faint column of smoke on the south western side of the city, but it was so faint I could hardly be sure. It was one fire, no more, that was nothing to feel alarmed about. Count Tyleeri burned down houses every day, this couldn't be anything new. 

Shivering I retreated back downstairs, chilled to the bone and soaked by the cold rain. I could still make out the distant clamor of the bell, sending out its urgent warning. It was one fire, and in the heavy rain there was little danger of its causing much damage. I pushed the thought of it from my mind, and returned to the main floor of the castle. 

But the disturbance was not yet over. As the shadows deepened, several hurried figures, blurred by the rain, bearing faint sputtering torches, stumbled through the castle gate, hastening toward the castle. They all entered together, speaking loudly over one another in their confusion, looking blankly around the main entrance hall for someone to direct them. I had never seen any of them before: seven men in dark leathers or simple armors, their faces blended together and nondescript in their varying degrees of grooming and color. I guessed that they were no more than guards, or at the very least hired thugs, of no rank or leadership of any kind. 

Carried by main force among the seven of them, buffeted between his two by no means gentle escorts, was a stooped old man. He was dressed in simple robes, which were torn and bloodied, and the thinning fringe of hair at the back of his neck was distinctive. It was Sir Kerrion's adviser, the crouched old man that had stood with him in the hall before the Briarwood's council, and with whom Kerrion had been conversing fiercely when he left the castle. Sir Kerrion was nowhere to be seen now, the elderly man stood alone without his companion, looking confused and shocked, doing nothing to either help or hinder the men that led him. 

Behind the company, carried between two men, was a flimsy stretcher. It was like something used to carry wounded men on, but it was covered by a piece of cloth, and the carelessness of its bearers led be to believe that the form upon it was not alive. If it had been a living man under that sheet, they never would have carried the stretcher so heedlessly. 

"Where the fuck is everybody?!" One of the men exclaimed impatiently, looking around for any signs of life.

He appeared to be the leader at the moment, not because he had any official rank that placed him above his fellows, but because he had stepped into the position of leadership, and the others were allowing him to take control. Quietly I left the retired window seat where I had been watching all this, and stepped into the hall. As soon as I appeared, the man's face brightened, recognizing a member of the castle at last, and he instantly stepped forward. 

"We're looking for Professor Anders, or the Lord and Lady. It's important" He said, with a little half bow. Of course I understood what the bow meant: a formality for someone who's rank is unclear, the mere civility of a greeting, with no real respect of rank behind it. Teachers had drilled me endlessly on such things, another form of training for which I no longer had any use.

"The Professor is upstairs," I said, without returning the bow. "I'll call him." 

With swift steps I mounted the main staircase, casting a glance over my shoulder at the knot of men milling about below me. They were casting nervous but curious glances at the grand spaces around them, aimlessly waiting for someone important to tell them what to do. In one corner the stooped old man was sitting hunched over, running nervous fingers over his thin lips with their day old stubble. Then I turned a corner and couldn't see them anymore. 

At Anders door I paused for a moment, reluctant to disturb him, and incur his wrath. But he would be angry no matter what I did. With a shoulder I pushed into his study, clearing my throat to get his attention, and carefully taking two measured paces into the room. Anders was sitting at his desk, writing busily, and stiffened as soon as I entered.

"What is it now?" He growled sourly, speaking over his shoulder without turning.

"There's several people downstairs in the entrance hall asking for you." I said, speaking with carefully guarded neutrality. 

"It can wait." 

"They said its important," I added, "they have a body with them." 

The Professor exploded in a snarl of annoyance, thrusting aside the papers before him, and pushing back his chair. As soon as he rose, I shrank away from the door, moving into the shadow of one of the two sets of ornate armor that stood on either side of the door, careful not to stand in the Professor's direct path of movement. There was danger in his present mood, but as long as I didn't stand to close to him, I could be reasonably sure he wouldn't go out of his way to reach me. Hardly giving me a second thought, Anders left his study, and I quietly followed, still careful to keep a safe distance between us. I wanted to see what this was about, but I knew better than to linger within arms reach. 

"Yes, what is it?" Anders called out bitingly as he quickly descended the stairs. "I'm sure it must be something important, if it calls me away from my pressing business, so speak out with it!" 

"There's been an attack." The leading man said, speaking with a shade of painful reverence in his voice that made me smile bitterly. "We brought the body for you to examine. It has all the signs my lord." 

Hearing Anders called My Lord, was laughably ludicrous, but I didn't feel amused for long. The men had set down the stretcher they carried, and were now removing the sheet that covered it. Underneath was a lifeless form, that I could just barely identify as the limp body of Sir Kerrion himself, only recognizable because of his armor, and the proportions of the body.

His armor was bloodied, the cloak torn off, and his shirt underneath was soaked with blood. As I drew nearer, I could see that much of the blood was from the neck, where two blades (probably small and thin) had been thrust down past the collarbones into the chest, and another long slash scored through the armor across his lower neck and chest. The leather breast piece of Sir Kerrion's armor was scored by a number of round holes, blackened at the edges, almost as if someone had thrust a red hot poker through the leather into Kerrion's body. But these were not the most startling wounds. A large portion of the top of Sir Kerrion's head was gone, carved out in a wide ugly groove, the skull shattered with the flesh exposed. It was a ghastly wound, and even though the others were severe, it was clearly this blow to the head that had killed him. 

"How did this happen?" Professor Anders managed to ask at last, after a long shocked silence, in which he was as staggered by the ruin before him as I was. 

A moment passed before anyone answered, but in that half second of silence, I caught several fleeting glances cast in the direction of the old man in the corner. He was now sitting in the deepest shadows of the foyer, and shrank back further as the others glanced at him, as if shy of the light. Finally the unofficial leader of the men turned back to Anders, saying submissively, "Master Vouk was the only survivor to witness the attack, the guards that were in the room are dead." 

"I see," the Professor said briskly, "bring him here, so I can have a look at him." 

Roughly the old man was jerked to his feet and dragged forward, grunting in protest, trying in vain stay in the deeper shadows of the room. As he was pulled forward, the light revealed not only the blood on his clothes, but a vicious scar on his forehead. He had been branded like a common animal, the mark burned into his skin, disfiguring his face. 

My stomach dropped, for I knew that mark. It was the rayed star of Pelor that my family had adopted into their crest. I had seen it thousands of times, shining dully on shields in the dining hall, embossed into Julius's armor, carved into the hair comb my mother wore on high days, fashioned into clasps for my brother's cloaks, part of the crest that was pushed into wax seals by my father's signet ring. It was a symbol of my family, carved into my memory since my earliest childhood. And here it was, burned into a man's forehead.

"How did you get this? Who gave you this?" Anders demanded angrily, as well he should, for that symbol represented my family, and delivered a very meaningful threat. 

"He can't speak." The leader said, striding up as he spoke and seizing Master Vouk's jaw, forcing his mouth open. "They ripped his tongue out." 

Gazing into the vacuous hole, I could see that the words were literal. The tongue was actually gone, leaving empty space. Not cut out, there was no stump of muscle left behind, his tongue was simply gone. Master Vouk's breath rattled unhappily as Anders peered into his mouth, trying in vain to draw his chin out of his captor's firm grip, strangled grunts of distress garbling in the back of his throat as his Adam's Apple bobbed up and down. The Professor's face changed as he examined the inside of Vouk's mouth, and he drew away with a look of contempt for Vouk, as if he were a lower animal, mingled with uncomfortable sympathy at another man's plight. 

"I've seen enough. Let him go." Anders commanded, and the guard obediently released Vouk's chin, allowing him to close his mouth. "Bring that body and come into the dining room. This is a matter for the lord and lady." 

Carelessly Anders thrust Vouk before him, leading the men into the dining room, and roughly depositing Vouk in a chair. At another command from Anders, Sir Kerrion's body was hoisted onto the table, and stretched upon it. This done, Anders disappeared, heading toward the cellar, and the Undercroft where Silas and Delilah spent most of their time. The soldiers left in the hall listlessly glanced into the various doors that lined the hall, loitering under the vaulted ceiling. The scarred and deformed Master Vouk tried to rise from his chair, but the unofficial leader still had a firm grip on his arm, and all he got was a sullen shove for the endeavor. At last Anders returned with Lord and Lady Briarwood, walking with his hands behind his back, as he followed in Silas's long strides, while Delilah melted into the room so quietly you almost didn't notice her behind her much taller husband. A chill washed over the room as soon as they entered, and everyone stood a little taller, except for Vouk who seemed to shrink still farther.

"Now, what is this all about?" Silas demanded as he entered, the deep timbre of his voice, along with his masculine figure, giving him a kingly power over the room.

"An attack my lord." The guard said, indicating the body of Sir Kerrion, stretched upon the table in its ruin. "Master Vouk witnessed the event, but they removed his tongue." 

"So I've been told." Silas said, looking the wretched man up and down. Swiftly his eyes passed over the rayed star burned into Vouk's forehead, but unlike Anders he had no noticeable reaction, and his eyes continued to rove. 

Delilah suddenly mounted the table, walking down the length of the long wooden board, and kneeling over Sir Kerrion's body. She examined the body, much more carefully than Anders had done, taking special interest in the strange bloody holes across the dead man's torso. Then she cast a long look at Master Vouk, who if it was possible, looked more frightened of her than he had been of Silas. 

"Bring me paper." Delilah suddenly demanded sharply, her eyes leaving Vouk, and locking on Anders. Eagerly he hastened to obey, returning after a few moments with blank parchment, ink, and quills. Unrolling the parchment in front of Vouk, Delilah thrust a quill pen into his hand. 

"Now, I am going to ask you some questions, and I've given you these so that you can answer." She said, leaning back, her eyes becoming meditative. After a moment she straightened and asked slowly "Did you know the people that attacked you?" 

Trembling, but submissive, Vouk slowly leaned forward and began to painstakingly write: _I'd never seen any of them in Whitestone before._

"How many of them were there?"

 _Six_.

"What did they look like?"

Here the pen in Vouk's hand hesitated for a moment, and at last he wrote. _You told us to look for gnomic folk, a stone giant kin like Vedmire, and halfelven. But these people were all human._

"How? They were in disguise?" 

_At first. They looked like peasants. But after the fight, they dropped the disguise. I saw gnomes, Stone giant kin, and halfelven then. They fit your description._

"And the disguises they used, what did they look like?"

 _It was too good to be a physical disguise, it must have been some sort of magic. They looked like completely different people_.

"Tell me what they looked like, fool, I don't care if they used magic or not!" 

_One was middle aged. He looked more like a butcher, very fat, with gray hair, and a scruffy beard. He was the half giant. There was a tall, skinny teenager, with blond hair, and blue eyes. When the disguise dropped he was still a human, with white hair, and he carried a...strange device...it was he that killed Sir Kerrion. There was a slender girl, black hair, green eyes, but under the disguise she was the really the red headed halfelven. One had been turned into a white haired old man with a walking stick, but without the disguise he was the halfelven male with black hair. You said that one of them was a gnome, and even with the disguise he wasn't able to change his hight, so he adopted the appearance of a little boy. The other halfelven woman you described had been disguised as an old woman, with a lazy eye, and her bear companion looked like a donkey._

"And that's all you can tell me?" 

_That was all I saw. The fight happened very quickly, I didn't have much time to try and memorize facial features._  
   

"It will do in a pinch, I suppose...and did they question you? Did you overhear anything of use?"

_They asked questions, and the human with white hair made threats. He asked if I knew who he was, and he seemed to be leading the others. But I don't think they had a plan, and they were arguing among themselves about their next step. They mentioned a tavern where they were staying._

"They questioned you...What did you say?"

 _I didn't tell them anything._ Vouk said, writing very fast, as his quill sputtered ink all over the smeared parchment in his haste. _They wanted to know if there were secret passages into the castle, and they asked if I knew where to find you, but it's more than my life's worth to betray your trust. I told them nothing._

"That is a lie. What did you tell them."

 _I told them nothing!_ Vouk insisted, his eyes wide, and his hands shaking.

"What did you tell them?!" Delilah suddenly thundered, power coiling around her voice. She seized his face, fingernails sinking into his cheeks, and shoved him back in his chair. Speaking right in his ear, Delilah grated out, "Tell me...or I'll slowly flay every inch of the skin off your body."

Trembling with terror, Vouk slowly lifted the quill pen, and wrote. _I thought they would kill me unless I had some way to make myself useful, so I told them that you were building something under the castle, and I offered to show them the way to it._

"I see." Delilah murmured rising to her feet.

Vouk blanched in his chair, and before he had time to let out more than a whimper of terror, Delilah pointed at him. A dark power rippled in her voice, making my skin crawl to hear it, and Vouk, or rather Vouk's body, went tense. A shudder passed over his frame, his chest convulsing, then he fell back rigid in his chair. A moment of silence passed, then Delilah pulled her hand back, as if drawing something from Vouk's corpse, and it sagged forward. The head snapped back into place on its shoulders, and the body lifted itself from its stiff position over the chair back, a puppet of the same unholy necromancy that gave the other castle servants life. 

"Let this be a lesson to all of you." Delilah said, twitching the fingers of her right hand as if tugging on puppet strings. The form of Vouk stumbled out of its chair, stupidly making its way out into the castle courtyard. "This is my punishment for traitors." 

There would be no more men like Vouk. All the men in the dining room were casting furtive horrified glances at each other, shuffling on their feet, and staring at the ground. If any of them had been forced to give information to the Briarwood's enemies, I could see that all of them would gladly have preferred suicide to the alternative of admitting their weakness to Delilah, as Vouk had been forced to do. Delilah smiled, her expression venomously honeyed, and all the guards in the room seemed to shrink.

"Next time I see any of you, I would hope for your own sakes that you are the bearers of good news," she said sweetly. "You have been told what to look for, and Vouk has been kind enough to provide us with a description of the disguises they used. Now go. You know what to do."

Quietly the men bowed and left. None of them spoke, and they pointedly kept their eyes averted from each other. Delilah had made a strong impression. 

"That was well done my love." Silas said, holding out a hand with careless chivalry, and helping her off the table as if she were stepping from a carriage. "I think you've made quite a lasting impression." 

"Let us hope so," Delilah murmured with a smile. "Now this tavern that Vouk said that they mentioned, we must find it, and soon. These people move more quickly than we thought, there's no knowing how much damage they could cause with even a few hours of delay on our part. We must find them before they make their next move, or I fear that this problem may get out of hand."

"If speed is needed, my children can move more quickly than the men, and their senses are keener," Silas said.

"Send them." Delilah commanded. "We are still weeks away from being ready, there is no time to waste."

"You may consider it done. I know how vital it is that you concentrate completely on this project, put this matter from your mind." Silas said. "I will have to leave you for a time, to attend to this problem, but I won't be gone for long. Only a fool would leave his greatest treasure unguarded in time of danger." 

Delilah flushed at his praises, and said nothing. Silas with a last admiring look, strode quickly from the room, unbending purpose in every line of his frame.

***

It was a long dull night, attended by the hushed patter of rain against the castle all through the dark hours. No more disturbances met my ear. Silas after vanishing from the castle for nearly an hour, returned at last, and immediately descended into the tunnels under the castle. What Delilah had been doing during that time I didn't know, she had disappeared into the tunnels as soon as Silas had left her, vanishing underground as if she had been buried there. 

The arrival of morning sunlight was quite welcome when it came, and the sight of Delilah sitting at the breakfast table as usual was just as refreshing. She looked a little pale and shadowed, as if she had been up all night, but that was the only sign of weakness I could sense. Her personal appearance and manner were both just a perfect as they always were. 

Silas, cold and austere, was sitting at the other end of the dining table. He had no plate or silver in front of him, and it was clear that he was guarding Lady Briarwood, sitting silent in his chair with his terrifying onyx blade unsheathed and laid across the table in front of him. Two of Delilah's undead thralls were lurking near the dining room doors, and clumsily serving Lady Briarwood was the mindless shell of Master Vouk. I shivered as I caught sight of him, and shrinkingly settled into a dining room chair, both disgusted and strangely fascinated by Vouk's clumsy movements.

As I settled in my chair a servant entered the room, and I watched it, expecting it to move towards Lady Briarwood. Instead it stumbled across the room to me, the black stench of death enveloping me as it drew close, and it stupidly held out a folded note. There was no seal on the outside, no direction or mark to indicate who had sent it, but I instantly knew the paper. It was the same stiff yellowed parchment I had seen a thousand times.

A chilling wash of dread settled over me, raising shivers down my spine, and I hesitantly took the note. I almost couldn't bring myself to open it, and I cast a frightened glance around the table, but both Lord and Lady Briarwood seemed to take no notice of me. Reassured I slowly opened the paper and looked down at the familiar eloquent handwriting.

_I pen this paper in haste and must apologize, I have little time to write anything longer, this is all I can say for now._

_It has come at last, the last rebellion. I must admit I had given up hope of any spark ever catching fire again, but fuel has kindled from outside, and we are all set ablaze. Even now we are preparing for war. This time I have hope that we will not fail, with new guidance we can succeed where past attempts have ended in ruin. Sir Kerrion has already fallen, Count Tyleeri and Duke Vedmire will be destroyed today. But have no fear, our true oppressors will be cut down soon enough. Tomorrow will be a day of death and glory.   
_

_Prepare yourself. We will come for you soon._

_Your friend, Archibald Desnay._

I crumpled the note in my hand, trying to find my breath. Fools! The blind fools. Archie, my friends, my people, they would all kill themselves for nothing. The room blurring dangerously, and I clawed for breath, trying to regain my balance. I struggled to maintain my grip on reality, a world that operated on logic, and not my own blind emotion. 

"My dear, what's the matter?" 

It was Lady Briarwood's voice, and it was doubtful if there was anything I had ever hurt me more. Only the sound of her voice, but my heart ripped in half, torn between indignation at Archibald's words ' _our true oppressors_ ,' and the deep seated devotion I couldn't help but harbor for him. I was divided between two forces, both equally compelling, a seed of agony caught between my love for the Briarwoods and my love for my people. 

Vaguely I tried to answer her, but here too was another conflict. If I gave her Archibald's note, I was betraying his trust, exposing his ignorance, and his wild hatred of these people that he didn't truly understand. But if I hid the note, I was not only shielding that ignorance, but sacrificing the Briarwoods, my family, to the heedless violence of my misguided city. Blindly I struggled to regain clarity, to think, to use my head instead of my heart. Always I was guided by my feelings, tossed by the chaos of my changeful emotions, at the complete mercy of my impulse.

In my confusion I squeezed the note into a tight ball in my hand, too disoriented to answer her. For a moment Lady Briarwood was silent, her eyes on the note in my hand, then she straightened in her chair, held her hand out palm spread, and said "give me that paper, my dear." Her voice cold and unbending. 

I stubbornly maintained my grip, shrinking apologetically in my chair, half terrified by my own disobedience. Silas's attention had by this time been drawn to my struggle, and he frowned, his face darkening as if something about my posture or manner deeply disturbed him. Very slowly he sat up in his chair, and I instinctively cast my eyes down at the table, determined not to meet his gaze. 

"Give me the paper." Delilah commanded again, and I flinched, still looking fixedly down at the polished wood of the dining table. 

"Cassandra," Lord Briarwood struck in, his voice sending chills down my back. "Look at me please." 

I couldn't resist the command. Briefly I tried, but it hurt, my heart bled when I attempted it. Slowly, half against my will, my eyes were dragged upward until I met his. As soon my eyes rose to his face, all struggle died within me. He was the true master, what ever he said was an unbending law, and I would obey him. Faintly a part of me struggled for control over my faculties, but it was Lord Briarwood who held the true power over my thoughts.

"Give my wife that paper. Now." 

Haltingly I obeyed, as best as I could. It stung to release the paper, but shrinkingly I laid it on the table in front of me, and Delilah quietly accepted it as the submission that it was, without demanding that I actually put it in her hand. Swiftly straightening out the creases in the paper, her eyes devoured its contents in the space of a few moments, the expression on her face cold and inscrutable.

"How unfortunate," she murmured when she finished, delicately folding the letter, and passing it down the table to her husband. "Such violence can only end in suffering and death, but it seems that the people didn't properly learn that lesson from our previous rebellion. We will have to give them a sharp reminder." 

"Please, don't hurt them!" I pleaded eagerly, squeezing the edge of the table. "They're just misguided!" 

"I'm sorry my dear, but the people of this valley must learn the meaning of respect, and if it takes slaughtering every last woman and child to teach them, then so be it." Delilah said, her voice still heartlessly composed, but her eyes glittered viciously. 

"No!" 

The exclamation slipped out almost before I could think about it, and I could have bitten my tongue out as soon as I had spoken. Lady Briarwood looked up at me quickly, her eyes sharp and accusatory, and I felt a rush of shame as I met her gaze. 

"You don't have to hurt them." I said, quickly softening my forthright contradiction as best as I could. "There has to be another way to fix this, some better alternative. Please..."

"The people of your city, this Archibald who has written to you, they have promised violence against this family." Lord Briarwood said, his voice measuring me, as if he were setting me a test of some kind. "It is your duty to protect my wife and I, even at the cost of many lives."

"Of course..." I faltered, the claustrophobic nausea of a cornered animal constricting my chest. "I would give my life to protect you, but there has to be another way. People don't need to die!" 

"It seems to me, that you are a little too personally involved in this matter..." Delilah said, gesturing at the servants lurking in the shadows of the dining room. "While your loyalty to your warmongering companions is admirable, it is misplaced, and will only bring further destruction. If the people of this valley insist on stirring up violence and death, then violence and death we will give them. Our punishment for disobedience is severe." 

I knew she spoke the truth, and it terrified me. I had scars to prove it, for I myself had been punished many, many times, and had witnessed many punishments inflicted on others. Remembering made me feel lightheaded. 

"There has to be another way--" I pleaded. 

Forceful arms jerked me out of my chair, holding me suspended above the ground, and Delilah had risen from her chair.

"Take this little fool up to Ander's study." She commanded. "And tell him to keep her there until the proper moment."

Relentlessly Lady Briarwood's puppets began to drag me from the room. Desperation rose in my chest, and I fought against them as hard as I could, struggling with all my might to remain where I was.

"Please..." I gasped, just barely holding my own, clinging tenaciously to any foothold I could find. "These people don't need to die." 

"If death is what they want, than death is what they will get." 

One of the servants punched me in the stomach, and I buckled, loosing my foothold. With swift efficiency I was dragged from the room, still fighting uselessly.

" _NO_!" I screamed. All the way up the stairs I repeated the word, pleaded it, begged it, venting all the pent up anguish I had never dared to release. At last, utterly exhausted, so wearied I could hardly think, I relented to my captors and stopped struggling.

When we reached the Professor's study I hardly noticed. In a confused way I recognized familiar objects, identified the sound of Ander's voice, and knew where I was, but I hardly cared. Roughly I was held down in a chair, while the Professor produced rope from some mysterious location and swiftly tied me down. I had reached the end of my brief transitory rebellion and made no effort to resist, passively allowing myself to be restrained. This done, I was left alone, with nothing but the crackling fire to occupy me. 

The first flush of denial was over. Grief was quickly claiming the place formerly occupied by blind rebellion, and I wept. Whether I wept for myself, or the Briarwoods, or my people, I hardly knew. Perhaps I would have wept less if I had known, but at that moment I couldn't have said who it was my tears were for. Like a confused angry child, I had nothing to cry for, and so I wept all the more.

Fools. Blind fools, we will all die for nothing...


	16. Shadow of the Past

A sharp jerk of pain brought me out of oblivion. There was no way to keep close track of time, but at some point in the long weary hours of waiting I had fallen asleep, escaping reality for a time. My whole body felt numb and aching, stiff with the torpor of sitting too long in one position, a persistent ache throbbing at the back of my neck. Anders had come back into the study, and had been busily cutting my bonds with a dagger. Tossing the limp shreds of cord into the fire, he suddenly seized a thick handful of my hair, dragging me to my feet. 

Tingles flooded over my body as was I moved, agony piercing through the back of my head where he clutched at my hair. Viciously I kicked backward with my heel, trying to strike at his shin and force him to release me. But both of us had tussled many times, and we were both well aware of the other's talents. Anders had already anticipated my strike and I met only empty air. 

"You listen to me, you little bitch." Anders growled, giving the fistful of hair in his hand a sharp yank that made me cry out. "I'm not in the mood for games today--"

Before he could get any farther I jerked my head back, unexpectedly giving into his grip, smashing my head back into his face with all the force I could muster. Anders let out an exclamation of surprised pain, pulling his face away from me. Trying to slither out of his grip I dropped toward the floor, letting my own weight reinforce my attempt. With another impatient growl Anders maintained his grip on my hair, pulling me back into his arms, and before I could wriggle away again I felt the cold sharp edge of a dagger across my throat. 

"I said. no. games." Anders repeated, his breath warm and humid right in my ear, and he gave my hair another vicious jerk that brought tears to my eyes. "We are going to have a friendly little talk, just the two of us, and then you are going to do exactly what I tell you. Is that clear?" 

I made another attempt at escape, less successful because this time the Professor had been expecting it. 

"You know, I'd give anything to be able to run this dagger across your throat right now, and be done with it..." Anders snarled in my ear, and I felt a line of heat across the side of my neck, as the dagger bit delicately into my skin. "To spill your life essence on the ground, feel your blood running through my fingers, and watch you expire right in front of me, would give me inexpressible pleasure. So if you want to keep your miserable life, you'll do exactly what I tell you, because I can't begin to express just how eagerly I'm looking for a reason to kill you." 

Pain pierced through the haze of anger as the knife sliced into my skin. It hurt to breathe, every tiny movement driving the dagger deeper into my skin by the minuscule fraction, so that I was the source of my own torture. Fear constricted my throat. Fear and disgust. Anders visceral description of my death sent chills down my spine, and I could hear the sincerity in his voice. Nothing would please him more than the chance to end my life, slowly, and as graphically as possible. 

"I am a fisherman miss de Rolo, and today you are going to be my hook. We are fishing for heroes, you and I, and when they get close you are going to cry out for help as loudly as you can, and draw them in. Kind hearted people will always come to the damsel in distress." 

"They'd come to you anyway," I hissed. The act of speaking irritated the slice across my neck, and I winced, pain constricting my voice. "You know what that star on Vouk's forehead means. These rebels are avenging the de Rolos, and you betrayed them. You don't have to seek them out, they're already coming for you."

"As much as I loathe you my dear, you do have a very enviable talent for getting others to trust you." Anders replied ignoring my comment. "That's what we need right now, someone they trust, and here you are, the perfect little tool waiting for the right person to make use of you. All you have to do is say 'help me' and they'll inevitably swallow your bait. Hook, line, and sinker."

"I'm not your tool." I said, once again trying to squirm my way out of Anders' arms.

"I beg to differ my dear." Anders said sarcastically, resisting my attempt, and giving my hair another vicious tug. "We're all tools of the Lord and Lady, and if you keep fighting against that you'll only get hurt...and if you try to escape that restraint, you'll only end up strangling yourself, just like the fools in this city are about to do. But you know that, don't you?"

His whispered words burned like a venom, all the more potent because I knew their truth. My heart ached. I was so tired of all the fighting, all the pointless death that achieved nothing. The first rebellion had brought nothing but death, the second had ended in utter ruin, yet still the people rushed to heedlessly waste more lives.

"Now, you know what you're supposed to do." Anders said after a moments silence. "All you have to do is draw them in, understand? One scream for help is all I need." 

"I don't want to." 

"It doesn't matter. You're a tool, it doesn't matter what you want. Just do what you're told, and keep quiet until the proper moment."

Thick deadly silence fell. It felt like I was choking on it, drowning in it. The dagger still itched against my neck, sending a thin trickle of blood down into my collar. I tried faintly to escape, but there was no real conviction behind it. It was nothing more than a silent message, and the Professor knew me too well to misunderstand what it meant. He jerked angrily on my hair, drawing a cry of pain from me, and snarled angrily "Shhh! You be quiet until you're told to speak. They should be close..." 

I relaxed, giving in, and going limp in his arms.

"Now, when I tell you," He hissed in my ear, the dagger pushing into my skin, "I want you to say what I told you to say. Got it?" 

I nodded. What happened next was almost too quick to see. With a loud crash the door to the study burst inwards, slamming back against the wall. One single lonely figure stood in the hallway outside, very lithe, dressed in black, and almost too quick to see. 

A breath of air hissed across my face, a blur passing the corner of my eye. The Professor let out a roar of agony, as a knife sank to a stomach turning depth in his right eye socket. Blood. Hot and scarlet, streaked against the side of my face. A swirl of dark smoke, the dagger was consumed and blinked out of sight, and a gout of blood burst from the open wound. 

Professor Anders hid his injured eye with one hand, snarling an arcane chant under his breath, and I could see coming death on his face, boiling anger promising vengeance to this intrusive stranger. The two ornate sets of polished armor on either side of the study door both shuddered, a weird reddish glow sparking inside their chest plates, filtering through the cracks in the armor and empty helmet pieces. Like mindless demonic twins both tumbled forward off of their decorative pedestals. But each, instead of collapsing in a heap, fell forward onto a knee and slowly stood up, the plates of magically controlled armor grinding together. 

"No!" I screamed. "Run, it's a trap!"

Anders let out a growl of frustration. I could hear his teeth grinding right next to my ear. Viciously he dragged my head back, his breath hissing against my skin, with a snarl of malicious triumph. His knife stabbed deep into my throat. Deep and burning through my flesh, to the core of me. My scream turned into a wet cough as he slit my throat. Blood bursting from the wound, as blind panic rose to a crescendo inside me.

Vaguely I felt the Professor drop me. I stumbled to my knees, trying to keep my balance. I could feel every pulse of my heartbeat. Burning through my veins. Weakly I tried to stem the flow, but it burst through my fingers, it burned down my throat. Breathing hurt. I was choking on my own life's essence. Every intake of breath bringing down a smothering lungful of blood and fire with it. Blood was pouring from my neck, staining the ground, staining my hands, staining my clothes. I gazed down at my own hands, hardly taking in the scarlet that covered them, and I stupidly wondered who's blood it was.

A firm hand grabbed me by the hair, dragging my head backwards. I collapsed, dragging weakly at somebody's armor in an effort to keep my balance, choking on blood and bile. A flash of dark hair, smooth very pale skin, and the slender pointed tip of an elven ear. Then they clamped a burning hot hand over my throat. The pressure made me writhe in agony. Pinching the gaping wound shut, he thrust a bottle into my mouth, force feeding me a thick grainy substance that burned my throat. 

A tingling itch poured through me, making me cough and choke. Then a line of burning fire spread across the wound, as if someone had laid a white hot thread across my neck. I coughed weakly. The fire was swiftly replaced by crushing relief. Pure bliss that made me dizzy. I desperately clawed in a jagged gasp of free air, at last able to breath normally. My healer dropped me, and I stumbled to the floor, too numbed to do anything but simply breathe.

The sharp crack of a gunshot startled me. Filling the room and making my ears ring. How in all the nine hells, had Ripley managed to break out of the dungeons, and retrieve her gun? But it wasn't Ripley. 

Standing in the middle of the room, filling all my vision, consuming everything around him, was the looming shadowy figure of a man. Dark smoke snaked around his body, black and thick and choking. Through the murk nothing could be seen but his outline, vague and ghostly, only his pitch black profile against the void of vengeful fume. A deep reverberating roar of cracked the room, shaking me to the core and thrumming through my bones. Then the dark figure upended one of the tables, disappearing behind it with the broken gun. His figure obscured, but the smoke still lazily drifted over the edge of the table and across the floor, mimicking a slinking animal in is low creeping.

Both Professor Anders and I had seen this figure. I felt a chill of foreboding, and Anders in the corner looked equally shocked. Blood was soaking through his robes from the many wounds Vax the elven man had already inflicted, out from under the simple breastplate he wore, and streaking down his face from the gaping wound where his eye had been. His one remaining eye was darting fearfully around, with the look of a cornered animal, and I felt a vindictive thrill of pleasure in his fear. I hoped they killed him.

Behind the Professor, sparkling in the middle of the air, a faintly purple tear crackled, growing and expanding as Anders continued to pry it open with his fingers. Then with a flash the doorway sputtered and vanished, the air behind the Professor stitching back together and becoming void. 

"Mm, mm, that door is locked motherfucker." A man's voice said. 

Standing in the doorway to the study, was a dark haired woman, and stunted form of a child or midget, standing no higher than her waist. She had a gracefully curved longbow, and he was holding a shawm in one hand, half cocked as if he had just finished playing a note on it. Grinning mischievously he added, "get used to it, 'cause I am." 

Anders expression blackened with rising horror. One fearful glance flitted over the Professor's shoulder, at the featureless wall he was trapped against, I could almost see the thoughts passing through his mind. There was nowhere to go, but into the arms of his attackers. He was trapped.

"Come to my aid!" Anders commanded urgently, and both sets of magical armor froze, their empty helmets turning to look at the Professor with a weird sense of intelligence. "Quickly!" 

With a squeaking of metal against metal, one of the armor sets moved toward the shadow man, who was still hidden behind the table, brandishing a long jagged sword, and a shield that had a giant spike in the middle. Seizing the edge of the toppled table, the living armor pulled it aside, stabbing down twice at the phantom. The other with mindless obedience moved toward the elf with the knives, raising its blade to strike as it did. 

Something thick wrapped around my ankles. A knotted green vine, entangling my feet. Pulling them out from under me, I was jerked away, twisting just in time to see the elf who had saved me crumple to the ground. Then watch the armor sink it's blade into his torso and withdraw it, sending an arc of blood across the ceiling.

The dark haired woman in the door let out a scream. A scream that I knew. I myself had uttered such a sound, on the ground in the woods, in pain and alone in the dark. When my brother left me. Darting into the room and sliding on her knees across the stone floor to the fallen elf's side. 

Loosing my balance completely, I was turned over on my back and deposited across the room, in a corner near the door. Standing over me was a slender woman with red hair and a long twisted wooden staff, who with a flick of her wrist, unwound the vines from around my ankles.

"Hi," she said distractedly, "just hang on." 

Forgetting my presence the red haired woman lifted her arm, balled a fist, and muttered through clenched teeth. The familiar chill of nearby magical energy washed over me, and she threw her hand forward as if she were releasing a projectile outwards.

The second sharp crack of a gunshot interrupted the confusion of my thoughts, cutting through to the center of my being. I flipped over onto my stomach looking back at the room behind me. Anders had fallen to one knee, doubled over clutching his bleeding leg. Across the room the shadow man had risen from his hiding place behind the table, and with an agile leap he vaulted over it, walking coolly towards Anders as he raised his gun for a second shot. 

"Percival, you disappoint us all," Anders snarled tauntingly, still nursing his bleeding leg. "All you had to do was die like a good de Rolo."

"Traitor!" 

The voice made my skin crawl. A plume of black smoke burst from the front of the gun. Anders reeled as another shot hit him in the chest, punching a bloody hole through his armor. Blood spattered against the ground, and more dribbled down the Professor's chin, but he only laughed, trying to regain his balance.

"This land has a greater destiny!" Anders exclaimed, throwing out his arms, and he grinned madly, blood staining his teeth. "You and that fool Ripley, you place your faith in toys and dust, you seek only the transient truths..." 

The casually advancing figure dropped his gun arm, and lifted the other to pull something from around his neck. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted a dark mask, shaped like the long pointed beak and glassy eyes of a crow, and silently drew it over his face. Masked, and obscured by vapor, the cruel outline was some fiend from a forgotten ghost story. Looking up into the pointed mask of the man who now stood directly over him, Anders laughed suddenly fearless. 

"I die to rise again, we are his blood--"

With an impatient movement the shadowed figure thrust the gun into Anders mouth, interrupting his speech.

"You're the face I saw when murder entered my heart." He growled. "This is your doing."

The last shot echoed out over the room with frightening finality. Anders' head crumpled as the gun went off in his mouth, and the entire back of his skull exploded outward, splattering the writing desk and wall with gore. Jerking the blood covered gun out of the vacuous hole that had been Anders' head, the figure raised his foot and kicked Anders' poised body, which toppled with a wet meaty thud. 

Whatever I had been expecting to feel, it didn't come. He was dead and it hardly mattered. In the end he had been dead all along. From the moment he had let Anna into the castle, Professor Anders had been fucked. The battle wasn't over yet, the world didn't pause because the Professor was dead, and both the armor sets were still glowing with aggressive arcane energy. 

Seizing his dagger from the ground where he had dropped it when he fell, the elf rolled away from the dark haired woman and the armor set standing over him, and bounced to his feet. Flinging two daggers close upon one another, both sank into the magic armor's empty breast plate, leaving two jagged knife shaped holes. Then with a swirl of black smoke both knives blinked out of sight and reappeared in back where they had been cast from. Out of the armor's reach, he backed away into the corner breathing hard and clutching at his stomach, blood still streaking down his torso.

A gray-skinned half giant now appeared out of the chaos, foaming at the corners of the mouth, and veins bulged in his neck. Brandishing a thick iron hammer he bore down on the elf's attacker, batting it like a kitten with a toy, and its red arcane glow flickered like a sputtering candle on the verge of going out. Tucking away his shawm, the tiny Gnome in the study door skipped jovially up to the other set of armor, and ripped his shirt open, thrusting his chest forward with a yell. A rippling burst of energy, with a deafening clap of thunder exploded outward, flinging the armor set head over heels, and it ignominiously tumbled over the upended table. 

"Percival," the dark haired woman said, still on her knees, and she reached up, taking the shadowed man's hand. "How are you?" 

"Fine." The answer was a low growl, fierce and almost predatory. 

"Darling, take the mask off." She replied, and rose from her crouched position on the floor.

The armor nearest her suddenly struck out with its sword, cutting across her shoulder, and she stumbled out of it's reach. With one fluid, practiced motion she knocked two arrows on the same string, dropped to her knees, and shot both arrows up into the empty helmet. In an instant the red glow blinked out, and with a crash the now lifeless armor tumbled in a confused heap. 

Behind me with a crackling of roots, the vine that had pulled me to the wall swelled, and slithered across the floor, dragging the remaining set of armor across the room in the same way that it had dragged me. I backed up, hurriedly pulling myself out of the way to keep from getting trampled. The red haired woman slammed her staff into the magic plate armor's helmet, but without an physical force behind it, and it pinged against the metal uselessly. 

Still foaming at the mouth the muscular half giant gripped his hammer. Raising it over his head he roared "BACON!" At the top of his lungs, and the black iron weighted head of the hammer burst into flame. Both strikes from the hammer left dents in the armor's plates, letting out a ringing sound like a struck bell, and the flames left charred marks on the polished metal. The tiny man tried to leap off this giant's knee and strike at the armor with a short sword he had drawn, but it only deflected him with it's shield and he bounced off like a rubber ball.

Across the room the faceless figure slowly pulled the bird like mask off his face. The smoke around him was beginning to dissipate, gradually revealing the details of a dark blue great coat, and several rounds of ammunition slung over one shoulder. Raising his pistol he sent three shots across the room at the armor, which all pinged against it without much effect.

"Aw, you guys, I thought someone was going to kill him!" The red head exclaimed, once again striking the armor harmlessly with her staff.

"I tried," the gnome said, clutching his arm dramatically, "but he hurt my wrist really bad!"

Rolling her eyes, either at the tiny gnome or the redhead, the dark haired woman sent another arrow across the room. With the sound of splintering wood it shattered against the metal, broken splinters of wood showering over the ground. Frowning at her failure and biting her lower lip, she took more careful aim, and fired again. This shot struck more true, sinking deep into the center of the armored chest plate, and once again the glow of magical energy blinked out.

"Vex," the half giant said, speaking the name with genuine admiration. "Thats two of em."

"Whats up bitches!" Vex gloated, throwing her arms out challengingly. 

At that moment a giant furry brown bear appeared in the study door, almost filling the entire space with his bulk. Holding a what looked like a torn coat sleeve in his mouth, he moaned plaintively at the Vex.

"Where did Ripley go?" The gray-skinned giant said. 

"Oh, Trinket..." Vex said disconsolately, clutching her longbow to her chest, and the bear moan sadly in return. "Did she get away?" 

Roughly the half giant latched onto the tiny gnome's shirt, ignominiously tucking him under one arm like a package, and carrying his friend, he jogged past the bear and out of sight.

"Trinket, find Ripley." Vex commanded, pointing after her musclebound companion. "Smell her out for them Darling." 

Obediently the bear began to sniff about in the passage, and set off at an awkward run down the hallway, still nose to the ground. 

Across the room, the man with the pistol dropped to the ground, the movement catching my attention with an almost painful sharpness that none of the others could command. Pulling a rag from his pocket, he began to carefully clean the blood off of his gun, sitting quiet in the corner. I watched him intently, as if it were impossible to peel my eyes away. 

The redhead finally turned her attention fully on me, and dropped to her knees at my side. Gently she lifted my chin with one finger, and began to carefully examine my neck. I submitted to her touch, still shaken by the whole encounter, as the adrenaline slowly drained out of my body and I took steadying breath. 

The woman in front of me was very beautiful, with dark green eyes tinged with hazel, a scattering of brown freckles across her face, and now that I had more time to look at her I realized that she also had elven blood in her. The tips of her ears were pointed, and she was paler than most humans would be, but I could trace human blood in her too, for she didn't have quite the ageless quality of a full blooded elf. She was a half elf, a mingled descendant of both bloodlines. 

Her hair, which was a very rich red color and hung all the way down to her waist, was pulled back from her face, and framing her temples was a twisted headpiece almost like a crown made out of slender white roots. Leaves, stained by the rich reds and yellows of fall, were almost growing out of the headpiece, and two polished white antlers curved back on either side of her head. All her clothes were very loose and flowing, mimicking the colors of autumn, and adorned with strings of beads. On her arms, all the way from shoulders to finger tips, were curving black tribal tattoos, clearly meant to visualize the flowing of wind or free air.

She was very skilled, and as she examined me closely her hands were very nimble, at last she released me, apparently satisfied with my wellbeing. I myself, now that I had a moment to examine myself, felt much better. I was a little shaken, and both my hands and feet were icy cold, the skin pale and waxy, but other than that I was relatively unharmed.

As the redhead broke away from me, my rescuer rose from his ball in the corner, still limping and clutching a hand over his stomach as he made his way clumsily across the room. Vex, hurriedly crossed the room to support him, tenderly offering him a shoulder to lean on. Now that I could see them right next to each other, it was abundantly clear that they must be twins. It wasn't a difficult conclusion to draw. Their features were so unnervingly similar, gender being the only difference. And even that wasn't striking.

Both had long straight black hair, which the sister had pulled into a braid, and both had identical black eyes. Vex had three blue feathers tucked into her hair behind one pointed ear, and her clothes were more natural in color, making up dusty greens and browns, over which was pulled a dark black cloak that almost seemed to melt into any shadows in the room. The man was dressed in much darker colors than his twin's, all his armor and gear very dark blacks, and the only colorful thing he wore was a dark purple cloak with tiny gold runes embroidered around its edge. He had four different daggers, two strapped to his back, with two others in a belt at his waist. And both upon closer inspection, while somewhat elven, also had something human about them that I found difficult to place, indicating that these two were also halfelven like the redhead.

"That was a close one." The man murmured, half supporting himself against his sister.

"Yeah...you know I feel like we've been here before Vax..." The redheaded woman said, with a show of thinking hard, hand on her chin. She narrowed her eyes for a moment, then her face hardened and she added scathingly, "oh right! That's right, we have been here before..."

Vax only laughed, a shuddering halting sound, and he winced as the chuckle irritated his wound. 

"You know I'm in love with you right?" And pulling her in, he planted a kiss on her mouth. 

As he did, his sister's face twisted with a look of truly juvenile disgust at seeing her sibling kiss somebody right in front of her, and pulled away from his arm. Completely caught off guard, the redhead reeled as he pulled away, blushing until she was almost as red as her hair. Still grimacing in an exaggerated show of disgust, his sister left the room.

"The way you turn into animals and stuff is really cool." Vax mumbled, stumbling without his sister's support, and leaning against the wall. "I'm losing a lot of blood right now..."

"Oh! Right..." the redhead exclaimed with a start, casting aimlessly about her for something to do, while her blush deepened even further "Just...let me...Umm..." 

Awkwardly placing her hands against Vax's stomach, she whispered under her breath. Tiny threadlike vines began to creep out from under her fingertips, winding around Vax's torso, that bloomed with starlike white flowers for an instant. Then the flowers wilted, the vines crumbled to dust, and she pulled her hands away. Straightening, Vax gingerly pushed a finger into his stomach, testing the newly healed wound, and let out a sigh of relief. 

At last the other figure in the room, the man with the six barreled gun, rose from the ground. Drawing my eyes back to his face with the same magnetic inevitability. This man, unlike the others, was clearly human, his chin rough with dark stubble, and his face was more rugged, less ageless than the half elves. But even though he didn't look old, and had vaulted over the table very dexterously earlier in the battle, his hair was white. 

I could now see that the six barreled gun was not the only weapon he bore, and as he moved I noticed that he had a metallic gauntlet on his left hand, and a much larger gun slung over his back. A white gemstone was set in the palm of the gauntlet, that sparked with electrical energy every time he flattened his hand, and across the back, carved into one of the metal plates was the word Diplomacy. The larger gun was hanging behind his back on another gun belt, which was loaded with several rounds of much larger, and far more deadly looking, ammunition. But the gun itself was a vicious looking weapon, too large to be easily fired at close range, with a scope on the top spine of the gun, a barrel that was much longer than the pistol's, and the title Bad-News carved across the butt of the gun by the same hand that had given the metal gauntlet its name. It was abundantly clear, from the expert and familiar way this white haired man handled all these weapons, the pistol, the larger rifle, and the sparking electrical glove, that they were all his creations, and he knew their functions intimately. 

As soon as he stirred my eyes were magnetically drawn to him, strangely fascinated by his movements. But he didn't look at me, and it startled me to wonder why that hurt. Instead he tucked his pistol away into a holster under his greatcoat, and began to collect fallen arrows from the ground, bundling them into a small handful. 

"Vax, are you alright?" He asked, crossing the room, and gripping the arrows tightly in one hand.

"Yes, I feel better," Vax said with a grim shrug, "thank you."

"That's good." The man declared, then he suddenly began striking Vax with the bundle of arrows as hard as he could, punctuating every word he said with a fresh strike. "Don't. You. Go. Into. Rooms. By. Yourself. Goddammit!"

"Percival, he had a knife to your sister's throat! He was going to kill her."

"Thank you, but next time count to ten!" At last he threw the arrows away, and turned to look down at me.

I didn't know him. The face was square and chiseled, with sharp cheekbones, and he was extremely pale, almost waxy. He looked almost ill. With dark shadows under the eyes, cheeks and temples hollowed and sunken. All his hair was white, tousled and unkempt except for the dark stubble on his square jawline. In that hollow pale ghost of a face, the blue of his eyes were startling, but they too looked tired, shadowed and haunted. 

It was like trying to see an old friend's face through a broken window, all warped and wrong. The vaguest shadow of what you remembered. I could see where Percy's face might have been, if the man before me were healthier and less hardened. But I couldn't trace the brother I knew in the shadows before me. Though I recognized nothing, I still felt irresistibly drawn to this stranger, instantly attached to him and concerned for his well being, despite the fact that I knew nothing about him. Somehow it broke my heart, and I longed for the joking older brother I thought I knew.

"Percy..." It wasn't a greeting.

"Hi." 

The answer was so unbearably awkward. And there was doubt in it too. He was as unsure of me, as I was of him. When faced with the task of saying everything that should be said, that one word of greeting was so stupidly inadequate, it felt like some kind of pointless joke. We were both utter strangers to the other, but somehow I knew him. His eyes, even though they were hardened, old, and tired, were my brother's eyes. And that one clumsy word was the exact kind of dumb shit my brother would say.

"Percy."

"I am so sorry..." 

The words hardly mattered, and I was in his arms almost before he said them, the embrace saying far more than clumsy speech. It felt like there was something broken inside, something torn and bleeding, that suddenly stitched back together. And strangely it hurt more than I could put into words. I was like a man dying of thirst, who was suddenly drowning in water. My chest hurt, the old wounds stinging, and I bit my lip trying to keep myself together.

"I am so sorry for leaving you." Percy said, pulling away at last.

"I thought you were dead!" I said, laughing haltingly. Slowly, almost afraid that he would stop me, I reached up and ran my fingers through his white hair. "I see we've both survived quite a bit."

"I wouldn't trade."

Despite the pain, I could have happily stood like that forever, but we weren't alone, and I suddenly remembered the other people in the room. Years of training had drilled us both never to show any kind of physical affection in public, and it was hard to throw off old lessons now. But deeper than that, there was some half foreign impulse that prompted me to withdraw, and I reluctantly shrank away.

"You shouldn't be here..." I faltered. "They were using me to get to you...I'm sorry..."

"Are you alright, did they do anything?" Percy asked soberly, brushing aside my words. "Are you yourself?"

It almost felt like something answered for me, and I slowly nodded. 

"I'm good..." I declared, and having said it, I realized that I believed it. "I'm good."

Part of me wondered if Percy actually believed me, but if he had any doubts he didn't voice them. Taking me by the arms, he drew my eyes to his face, and I shivered at the icy resolve I sensed underneath his words.

"We're putting an end to the Briarwoods tonight, before the sun sets. This is the end of them. It's all going to be over, and we're going to stop whatever it is they're doing under the city."

_No._

The inner response was immediate and vehement, rising half against my will, and I was frightened by the force of the feeling. _No. That mustn't be_. Indignation swelled within me, my thoughts coiling protectively around the Briarwoods as soon as he threatened them. This was wrong. How could my brother be so terribly wrong?

"You say this," I murmured coldly, "but we've tried twice."

"I know." Percy responded, maddeningly dismissive, as if all the lives lost, all the flames, all the tears and blood, meant nothing. "This is it."

What made me say my next words, I could hardly tell. But it struck it's root in a little rising resentment against my brother that was the cause of all this inner confusion. 

"You left me you know."

"I did...and I am so sorry..." 

My words had hurt him, I could see that, and much to my own chagrin, it sparked a little whisper of bitter triumph to see it.

"Good." I said. Then I gave myself a shake, hastening to take refuge in business. "Well if we are going to do this, I need to get ready."

"No..." Percy contradicted half heartedly, his former doubt resurfacing. "You're going to your room--"

"Yes I am!" I cut in.

"--to wait till this is over."

"No, I'm not." I responded, summoning as much of my old conviction as I could muster. It had been a long time since the first rebellion, but I called up the same force of leadership now. "I'm going to my room, to get my things, to get Mother's armor."

"I--I don't think thats a very good idea..." But I could almost smell his weakness. If I continued to insist, he would inevitably give way.

"You've been fighting them for a few days," I said, that same foreign resentment stirring within me, prompting my words. "I've been fighting them for nearly three years. You have no power over me brother, and if our goals are aligned to free this city, then lets do it together. But I don't have to listen to you."

It was a challenge, a contest of power, but I never hesitated in setting it. A moment of awkward silence fell, in which Percy and I never broke eye contact. He was angry, I could see that, and there was also a tinge of regret, but I sensed a feeling of admiration underneath. Part of him admired what I had become. All this bloomed in my mind, in the space of a few moments, then Percy frowned, and his face darkened. 

"Oh god, you're irritating..." He suddenly exploded, and fuming he turned away, throwing his hands up. "Fine!"

There was no triumph in the victory, it was already forgotten, but I did feel a tinge of satisfaction ripple through me. This was more like what I remembered, this was more like the old way. We never could manage to get along without arguing, even when we were only children. Always hiding behind irritation, that was Percy's way. As I left the room, the tiny little gnome and his half giant companion had come back, and they passed me in the door.

"That Ripley is very talented..." The tiny man said grudgingly as he entered. "She got away..."

"I have no doubt she did," I overheard Percy say wearily. "Honestly, we have bigger issues than Anna at this point."

For an instant I paused, trying to make out more of the conversation, but their voices had faded out of my hearing and I cast the effort aside. Vex was also returning, slightly behind her two friends. Her bear companion was trudging along submissively, with his mistress sitting on his back like a queen, and the halfelven woman was idly re-doing the thick braid of her hair as they went along. Gathering myself, I quietly passed them, tracing the way back to my room.

It was clear that Percy and the others had already been here, the papers on my desk moved out of place, the doors of my wardrobe left open. It looked as if they had been searching for me, or some clue of where to find me. I shivered. Something about seeing my private space disturbed felt extremely vulnerable, as if everything they had touched didn't belong to me anymore. Fearfully I crouched down, and slithered under my bed once again, reaching for that bundle of old velvet. But this at least was completely undisturbed. All my clothes were in the exact same place, my boots, my blades, and Mother's armor, all just as they should be. I let out a small sigh of relief.

Mechanically I began to dress in the mirror, swiftly removing my blood soaked dress and trading it for my more functional clothes from under the bed. My movements were swift and efficient, but I was aware of ever tiny muscle in my body. The old ritual of dressing for battle was refreshing, like a sharp spice, and I grinned, more alive than I'd felt in years. I drew Traitor from its sheath and felt the keen edge of the blade, satisfaction stirring within me as I felt how sharp it was. 

Then, in the middle of dressing I paused, my shirt half on and half off. What was I even doing!? Was I planning on joining Percy, betraying my new family, and clinging to the old one? What was I going to do? The question burned in my mind, demanding an answer, an explanation, a plan. 

In the dim semi light of my room, the dark scars across my bare skin were fully visible. A jagged wound across my side, and a shallow cut across my collar bones, the work of Geru. Underneath that shallow mark, a much deeper slash given to me by Silas. It was carved into my chest with deadly accuracy, still red and jagged, a long vicious line across the center of my chest. Finally beneath that, three round scars, reminders of the arrows that had punched through my skin. The memory of how I had got them made my skin burn painfully. _My brother gave me these._ I reflected, and once again the thought rose out of that little seed of bitter resentment.

No sooner had I gotten my old family back, then it was threatening my new one. Percy, Percy, why did he have to come back to me such a heartless fool? I knew what I had to do of course. I had known from the beginning. The answer had been clear from the start, I had just been running from it. The weight of it settled over me, instantly extinguishing the vigor of anticipation, and I settled into it my resolve, embracing the burden.

 _"You find your family, and you protect them with every bone of your body."_ Wasn't that what Ivan had told me, all those weary years ago? _"You find what you want, and you pursue it, to the very end."_

I wanted my family to be safe. That was my task. Keeping Silas and Delilah safe from my brother was the only thing that mattered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Finally caught up with canon events! I had to change some of the mechanics in the fightscene, and cut out some of the parts I felt were slowing the narrative down, otherwise I hope it was acurate. The truth is that I have the entire first draft already written, but I haven't posted it all at once, because I happen to have a debilitating disease called Procrastination.


	17. In the Company of Idiots

The door to the study was still partially ajar when I came back. All the surrounding hallways were completely deserted, and as far as I could tell, there had been no reaction to the Professor's death. Either nobody knew that he had died, or nobody cared.    

It was the strangest sensation, knowing that my brother was waiting for me, just on the other side of that door. My clothes felt strange too, more loose than usual, easier to move in than a dress. The soft leather boots made almost no sound, and I found myself treading lightly on cat feet, even though there was no one to hear me. But wearing Mother's armor was stranger than everything else. The aged leather fitted me almost perfectly, conforming to my movements like a well worn glove, but it didn't feel like mine. It belonged to Mother, and it smelled too much like her. Pausing outside the study door, I realized that Percy had never seen me in battle attire before, and I vaguely wondered what he would think of me.

Brushing the thought aside, I silently pushed through the narrow crack in the study door, so quiet that nobody noticed my entrance. Everyone had come back to the study. Vex's bear was curled up on the rug before the fire, his giant furry head resting on both his broad front paws, and she was leaning against him, organizing the arrows in her quiver so that everything was in easy reach. The other two half elves, Vax and the redhead, were sitting awkwardly as far away from each other as possible. Pacing up and down, impatiently, was the broad shouldered half giant, balancing his heavy weighted warhammer in one hand. The tiny gnome man was sitting in front of the writing desk with Percy, but I hardly noticed him, my eyes were so magnetically drawn to my brother.

"Percy," the half giant said, spinning the hammer in his grip, "can we get into the underground caverns from 'ere?"

"I can take you." Everyone jumped when I spoke, turning to look at me, and Percy's face darkened with annoyance. It seemed that pride was still stinging from our last disagreement.    

"She's going to take us." Percy said.    

"Is that your sister?" The gnome asked.    

"Apparently." Percy returned shortly, cutting off the word sharp severity.    

"So?" I said questioningly, my fingers instinctively running over the hilt of Traitor as I spoke, feeling the comforting leather under my fingertips. "Are we ready?"    

"Lemme see your neck." The half giant said suddenly, looking at me suspiciously.

I frowned, but I could see no reason to disobey and I stepped forward, tilting up my chin. I had to crane my neck to look up into the face that towered over me, the man was so much taller than I was. Even if I had stood on my tiptoes I would hardly have reached the top of his shoulder.    

He was completely bare chested, his gray skinned muscles exposed, and across the expanse of his chest ran a milky white scar like a twisted bolt of lightning. Black jagged tattoos covered his head, which was completely bald, and more tattoos were printed across his shoulders. His only facial hair was a thick coarse black beard, as wiry as a scrubbing brush. This mountain of a man before me, almost completely naked but for a kilt of animal hides strapped around his waist, was so much large than me, he probably could have lifted my entire body with one arm. As he stepped up to look at me, I clenched my jaw, feeling a tinge of fear mingled with dislike run down my spine. I knew nothing about him, but he felt aggressive.    

Towering over me, the half giant looked me up and down suspiciously, chewing on his lip in his concentration. What ever he was looking for, he wasn't looking very well. His movements were clumsy as he tried to examine me, like a man who had never seen blood before and was suddenly forced to become a doctor.    

"By the way this is Grog." The tiny man said, leaving his position by the writing desk and speaking to me.

If I was small compared to this Grog, then the gnome was ludicrously tiny, and I couldn't help but smile at the ridiculous contrast between the two. I had never seen anyone as tiny before, and not only was he smaller than anyone I'd ever seen, I had never met anyone dressed as gaudily as he was. His hair was pulled back into a curly ponytail with a piece of bright red ribbon, his clothes were all fine silks, a bright array of pink, purple, and gold embroidery, with the shirt spread so that his chest was bare, proudly displaying a light dusting of chest hair. Over one shoulder was a brightly colored strap from which hung a finely crafted lute, and around his waist a red sash in which was tucked his shawm.    

"Oh yes," Percy suddenly put in, "these are my friends by the way: Scanlan, Keyleth, Vax'ildan, his sister Vex'ahlia, and you've already met Grog."

As he spoke my brother gestured around at the people to whom the names belonged. Keyleth, the red haired woman, waved awkwardly when her name was mentioned, and the tiny gnome Scanlan swept a deep theatrical bow.       

"Alright Scanlan, take it easy..." Vex'alia said, putting a restraining hand on Scanlan's shoulder, as he came out of the bow. He paid her almost no attention, and as he turned away he shot me a wink.    

"Let's do this shall we?" Vex hinted to my brother.    

"Lead the way sister." Percy said, gesturing toward the door, and the other members of the band stood up, ready to follow my lead. I quietly slipped back out into the hallway, all six of them trailing after me, and with the same light footed care I traced my footsteps back toward the front of the castle. Our little band stretched out, Percy lingering close at my side, Keyleth alone behind him, Scanlan skipping jovially along between the twins, with Grog and the bear Trinket bringing up the rear.    

"Can we expect anymore traps, that you're aware of?" Vex asked.    

"That I'm aware of, no," I murmured cautiously, "but I'm certain that there will be. They know you're coming it seems, so be wary."    

"Hey Percival." Scanlan said, appearing at my brother's side and smiling up at him as he bounced along. "Any chance you could load up Ripley's gun for me?"    

"I don't know if that will work actually." Percy said doubtfully. "I'd probably have to train you how to use it."    

"Really? I've seen you use it, you just pull your finger on the finger part, and the big boom part goes out." Scanlan said brightly, pantomiming using the gun as he spoke.    

"It's a little more complicated than that actually!"    

"Well," the gnome replied, fairly arguing the disagreement, "you have to point it at the thing that you want to be boomed..."    

"I'll load it for you I suppose." Percy said, drawing Anna Ripley's four barreled pistol from his coat, and absentmindedly searching for bullets.    

Without waiting for the gun to be loaded, Scanlan eagerly seized the pistol, bouncing it in his hand. Then, with an awkward flick of the wrist, he spun the gun on one finger, and tried to tuck it into his red sash next to the shawm. He managed to pull the stunt off without dropping the gun, but a loud click echoed out over the hallway while he did it, as the empty gun went off in the gnome's hand. Percy flinched, and closed his eyes, as if praying for Pelor to grant him strength of forbearance.    

"Ok." Scanlan said, holding out his hand expectantly. "Now give me a bullet."    

"We're seriously going to give him a gun right now?" Vex said doubtfully.    

"I'm a big boy!" Scanlan retorted indignantly, adding defensively, "Well I'm actually a little boy...but I'm a little, big boy!"    

Taking back the gun from Scanlan, Percy began to load four bullets into the chambers. The tiny man watched every movement Percy made, his eyes shinning with anticipation. At last my brother passed the gun back, and Scanlan took it, brandishing the loaded weapon with a flourish.    

"If something goes horribly wrong--" Percy began, but before he could complete his sentence, the half elf Vax'ildan silently appeared behind Scanlan, and plucked the gun out of his hand. The half elf had moved so quietly that Scanlan hadn't noticed his approach, and as the darkly clad man whipped the gun away, he was so quick the gun almost seemed to disappear and reappear in the thief's hand.    

"No! Give that back!" Scanlan exclaimed petulantly, jumping up and down in a useless effort to reach the gun. "It's mine!"

But the half elven man, deaf to his companions pleas, silently passed the gun to his sister. She emptied the gun of all the bullets, tucking the ammunition away, then passed it back to Scanlan, and ruffled to top of the tiny man's head. As Scanlan took back the empty gun, Vax returned to the front of the group, taking up a position at my side.    

"I was at the door." Vax said, speaking hesitantly, as if he was unsure how I would accept his words. "He had a knife to your throat...He wanted you to say something to us. What did he want you to say?"    

For a brief instant I paused, considering my words, but Anders was dead, and I had no reason to protect him or his memory any longer. "He wanted me to shout for help." I replied truthfully. "He wanted me to draw you in."    

"How?" My companion probed cautiously. "How did it come that he had a blade to your throat today? How did it all unravel? Have you been living here?"    

"Well, after the arrows felled me...I guess I should start at the beginning..." And with that short prelude I quietly retraced the whole tale, following the events all the way from that horrible night in the dark, Father Rynoll, the failure of the first rebellion, and the aid I offered Archibald in building up the second one. It was a short tale, and I felt very little emotion as I told it. Instead the sensations I felt were those of an efficient machine, carefully choosing my words, and considering everything I said. Mostly I kept to the truth, it was more believable that way. But I said nothing of the bond between me and my new family, and when I spoke of Archibald, I knew better than to admit that I had been writing him under Delilah's full knowledge and guidance.    

Even though it was a relatively short narrative, we had passed down the stairs, through the servant's wing, and reached the indoor entrance to the cellar by the time I had finished it. The others quietly listened to my story, and as quietly accepted it when I came to an end. Once again reaching out to feel the wall, I led the way down the cellar stairs. Faint light was filtering through the outer doors, and in the half light a well trodden line of footprints could bee seen through the dust on the floor, the work of many feet passing endlessly backwards and forwards.    

"Can we do one thing," Percy said quietly, his voice echoing slightly in the wide dusty silence of the cellar, and he put a hand across the head of the stairs that lead down into the de Rolo mausoleum, stopping me from continuing downwards. "Before we go down, I just...This is the best day of my life and...I can't help but be suspicious."    

His words though hesitant, did hurt, more than I thought they would. _If he is suspicious, you certainly deserve it...only a fool wouldn't be..._ I reprimanded myself, but I still had to pull myself together to keep from showing that it hurt on my face, and squared my shoulders with a smile saying, "I completely understand."    

"Is there any way to check if she's being controlled?" Percy asked, turning to Keyleth. "A spell of Restoration seemed to work, do you have that?"    

"Didn't learn it." Keyleth said gloomily, winding a piece of red hair around one finger. "Not for today. I kind of thought Pike's magic would hold up..."    

At the mention of this new name everyone's face fell, and a shadow settled over the group. For a moment everyone seemed lost in thought, then Keyleth sighed and shrugged, casting a blank glance at the rest of the group.    

"I could try," Grog suddenly put in, his face screwed up with the effort of his concentration, as the rusty gears of his intelligence sluggishly turned, and he balled one hand into a fist. "And...Jog her memory..."    

"You mean punch her in the face?" Scanlan asked gleefully.    

"Well...Yeah..." The half giant replied sheepishly, and everyone else in the group but Scanlan rolled their eyes.    

"What can I do to make you trust me?" I asked.    

"I do trust you." Percy admitted, the declaration strangely gratifying. "That's the problem."    

"Whatever you need." I promised.    

"I've got nothing..." Percy said with a shrug. He seemed to have little hope, but clinging to a last shred of possibility, he turned to Vax. "What would happen if we put your helmet on her?"    

"If she's already controlled..." Keyleth said, her face doubtful.    

"It might disrupt it maybe..." Percy argued. "We could try it."    

"Well, I doesn't hurt to put a hat on." Admitted Keyleth with a shrug, meditatively biting the end of a long strand of carrot colored hair, before glancing down at what she was doing and throwing it away.

Vax'ildan all this time had been sitting silent as Keyleth and Percy argued, and his stillness coupled with the darkness of the cellar made him extremely difficult to see. Both he and his sister were almost completely invisible against the shadows. At last he stirred, quietly pulling down the dark hood that covered his head, fully revealing his long black hair, as well as a curved piece of metal that shielded the back of his head. It glowed faintly in the near darkness, a soft blue tinge glimmering around the metal, and as he pulled it away from his head the glow faded.    

"I want to suggest something to you," the half elf murmured softly, looking down at the metal cap as he spoke. "That we rest here for a few minutes, and I give this to you. This came from a very strange creature. It will help you resist any control, if there is any control. And one of us, you could even choose, could strike you, and try to take you out of it. If you're not being controlled, then your being struck across the face, and I'm sorry for that. But if you are, there's a possibility we could pull you out, and I know that would hurt, but it would go a long way to earn our trust. Your choice."    

"If that's what it takes..." I said slowly, taking the metal construct from the half elf's grip, and examining it. The forging was very rough, little more than metal scraps that had been hammered together, with a string of runes that I felt under my fingertips, but couldn't read in the half light of the cellar, carved around the edge. "Shoddy craftsmanship..." I added, placing the metal against my head.    

Instead of falling off, the metal remained where I placed it, and I felt a patch of tingles rise on the back of my head where the helmet was placed. After several minutes of waiting for some affect, I didn't feel any different, and pulled it off with a shrug.

"I don't feel any different."    

"What if the little one struck you?" Vax suggested, taking his helmet back, and swiftly replacing his shadowed hood.    

"Struck her?" Scanlan said, a little taken aback by the suggestion at first, but as soon as he had said it I could see his inclination warming to the idea.    

"Whatever you choose..." I said, glancing down at the tiny man sitting next to me, and the ridiculous contrast between our sizes, made me smile condescendingly.    

"Wait!" Percy said, his face suddenly lighting up, and he began to furiously rummage through his pockets. "I have a potion! This should solve all of our problems."    

"Or you could save that for when one of us becomes a vampire." Scanlan suggested.

But Percy hardly noticed his words, something that I was coming to realize wasn't that uncommon where Scanlan was concerned. For a moment we all watched silently, as Percy continued to search for the answer he was looking for. Then at last with a triumphant flourish he pulled out a small vial of potion, the color and texture of which couldn't be distinguished in the darkness, and he hastily tugged the cork off with an impatient jerk.    

"If you are controlled, this could fix it." He said, holding out the uncorked potion to me. The undertone of hope was unmistakable in his voice, and without a moment of hesitation I seized the potion, drinking it in one long pull.    

It had a very sandy taste, like finely ground earth congealed in a thick oil, and it was difficult to swallow. As I drank it down, thick grainy substance coated my throat like honey, warm fire spreading through my body. Warmth bloomed in my fingertips, banishing the clinging chill that had sunk through them when my throat was slit. I waited for some change, but the potion, after burning through me, faded without any sign of a difference.    

"That was actually a minor healing potion." Percy declared with a grin after a moment's expectant silence. "I was just seeing if you drank it intentionally."    

"I thought I recognized that terrible earthy taste." I said, tossing the bottle back. Laughing, I shook my head affectionately. "You always were the clever one."    

"I figured it was worth a shot."    

"Am I supposed to punch her in the face now?" Scanlan asked, perking up hopefully.    

"No!" The rest of the group forcefully returned, and Scanlan wilted under the several discouraging looks cast in his direction.    

"Alright." Percy said resignedly. "Let's go down and take care of this..."    

"Well hang on," Keyleth interposed, "before we enter, it's safe to assume that they know we're coming, correct?"    

"Yeah." Vex'ahlia said with a shrug, and Percy nodded darkly.    

"Are the Briarwoods going to be down there?" Scanlan asked, turning to me.    

"They spend most of their time down here," I explained, "preparing for something..."    

"And have you ever been down here?" Vax suddenly asked out of the darkness, his form little more than a dark blur as he spoke.    

"I'm not allowed down here, by their orders." I said. "But I've snuck down a few times, out of curiosity. I've only gotten so far, before I had to return, but I've made it through the undercroft, most of the tunnels, and made it to the distillery. That's about as far as I've gotten."    

"Are there sentries?" Grog asked. "Can we expect to find traps? Lookouts?"    

"It's certainly a possibility, so move quietly and be careful."    

"What is Lady Briarwood?" Vex suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had fallen as we continued to move down into the mausoleum.    

"What is Lady Briarwood?" I paused in the stairwell, bringing our progress to a standstill for a moment as I considered my answer. "She's a wicked beast of a creature is what she is. I'd use less savory words, but my brother's here."    

"There's a first time for everything I suppose." Percy said wryly.    

"She's not like her husband, that I know, and as far as I can tell she's human. But she has a very powerful control over life and death." I shuddered, knowing the truth of my words. I had seen so many proofs of it. "She's a practitioner of the arcane most certainly, but her focus seems to be necromancy, on a wide scale. And while Delilah and Silas are man and wife, they speak of another..."    

"They speak of another?" Scanlan repeated.    

"Yeah," Vex said, "the guy they're trying to bring back."    

"Oh, this is the king that will rise again?"    

"They don't say any names." I said, shaking my head. "They refer to them as 'Him' or 'The Whispered One,' no reference beyond that..."    

"Oh, another question for Cassandra." Scanlan said, changing the subject yet again. "The duke, Negmire? Vegmire? Vegman???"    

"Vedmire, yes."    

"Have you seen him around the castle today?"    

"I think I've only seen him in the castle three times since I've been here..." I said with a shrug.    

"Because," Scanlan explained, turning to the half giant. "Grog, he's a half giant..."    

"Wha--What?" Grog said, caught off guard.    

"He's a big, big half giant..."    

"'ow'd you see 'im?"    

"Oh you know," Scanlan said modestly. "I was a dinosaur, and I burned down a house, and I killed a bunch of people--"    

"You fought 'im?!"    

"I wouldn't say 'I fought him.'" Scanlan said, still with a show of modesty that didn't fool anyone. "Because I sort of beat him really easily, and then I ran away..."    

"Oh, so you killed 'im..."    

"No, no, I just pushed him off a building...And then I thought that was enough for the day, so I went home."    

"It's a shame you're not as tall as your tales, small one." I said with raised eyebrows. To say that I was skeptical of his story would have been putting it lightly. I had met bards of his type before, and in every case, they all had tall tales that were probably not in the least true.    

"Well..." Scanlan said, with a slowly spreading grin. "Thank you--"    

"No." Percy suddenly cut in, speaking to Scanlan over one shoulder.    

"--I take that as a complement." The gnome continued suavely, as if Percy hadn't even spoken.    

"NO."    

"Oh don't worry." Scanlan said lightly, grinning at my brother.    

"I said no."    

At last we reached the bottom of the stairs, pausing in the entrance to the mausoleum. The whitestone tombs and small burial shrines were just as silently dignified as before, darkness lurking in the corners of the long wide chamber. Percy was holding a torch, while Grog lit the iron head of his hammer on fire again, and as the light cascaded outwards I could see that the tombs were not as undisturbed as they first appeared. Every single stone coffin had been broken into, their lids thrown aside, and every single one was empty. It was chillingly cold, and as I stood in the doorway I shivered. Something about this place felt wrong. It felt defiled.    

"Before we cross the precipice into this Undercroft." Scanlan said, stepping forward and looking into the room. "Percival, we all have fought with you this whole time. You know that we have your back, and that we're with you in this one hundred percent."    

"Yes."    

"But I'd like our enemies to know that as well. So with your permission, I'll cast Seeming on all of us, and make the girls look like Cassandra and the boys look like Percy..."    

Before my brother could have either agreed or protested, Scanlan laced his fingers together, and breathed into the gap between his palms. A blur, like a momentary blindness, obstructed my vision, and a puff of air stirred my clothes. When I opened my eyes and was able to see again, every single member of the group had been changed into an exact copy of me or my brother. The miniature battalion of de Rolos around me was the strangest sight I had ever seen.    

It was still, in a vague way, possible to tell which was which, Grog having been changed into the tallest most muscular copy of my brother I had ever seen, Vax'idan's image of my brother still melting uncannily into the shadows despite his changed appearance, and Scanlan was still far too short to imitate my brother, so the figure standing next to me was a stunted dwarf of my sibling. But far stranger than the copies of my brother, were the perfect images of myself. Not inverted like I would be in the mirror, but how I actually appeared to everybody else. It was extremely uncomfortable, and even though Vex was a little shorter than me and Keyleth a little taller, the resemblance was uncanny.    

"Curious..." I faltered.    

"But abrasive right?" A mirror image of myself said hopefully, but it was Keyleth's voice that came out of my mouth. "You're put off by it, so it works..."    

"Abrasiveness is his most powerful weapon." Percy said tiredly, looking around at the images of himself with look of hopeless resignation.    

"Which I'm beginning to see." I admitted.    

Whispering under her breath, the shorter copy of myself swirled her hands together, and a burst of black shadow exploded over the group. The shadows almost seemed to descend over everyone in the group, clinging persistently to the body, and the forms of both Vax and Vex became almost impossible to see in the darkness.    

"Vax?" The image of myself with Keyleth's voice said questioningly, going from one copy of my brother to another, looking for the right one.    

"Yeah," an extremely short version of my brother said, pooching out his lips as if asking for a kiss. "I'm Vax."    

"I just..." Keyleth said awkwardly, "I just wanted to say..."    

"Yes?" The tiny figure said, trying to imitate the half elf's deeper voice "Yes it's me Vax."    

"Kiki," another image of Percy said, melting out of the shadows, and tapping the woman on the shoulder. "I'm over here..."    

"No! No!" Scanlan said, still trying to imitate Vax. "What do you need?"    

"Goddammit Scanlan!" Keyleth said, suddenly noticing how short this version of Percy was. She shoved him away with a grimace, turning to Vax and murmuring awkwardly "Ummm, be careful..."    

"I will be." Vax promised gently, taking Keyleth's hand.    

"He will be" Vex'ahlia said, suddenly appearing behind her brother, and even though she looked like me, her threatening attitude was unmistakable.    

"Y--you know what," Keyleth said uncomfortably, Vex's rude appearance startling the two out of their romantic moment. "Lets just go."    

"Sister Vex..." Scanlan said, still trying to imitate the brother's voice, as the troupe moved into the solemn silence and darkness of the Undercroft. "Would you mind giving me that gun again?"    

"No you can't have it."    

"Why, because I'm three feet tall?"    

"Because I want it."    

"Wait." Vax said, interrupting their petty disagreement.

Holding out his arms, motioning for everyone to stay back, the half elf stooped, and plucked something out of the powdered dirt scattered in front of the earthen tunnel that ran down to the acid pits and distillery. "What the fuck is this?" It was a shard of the green Residuum glass, that looked almost black in the torchlight. After turning it over in his hand, Vax passed it to Scanlan, who also looked at it closely. Keyleth bent and retrieved another small shard from the ground, and when I looked down I could see that there were several scattered pieces in the dirt, no larger than pebbles.    

"No idea..." Scanlan said, shaking his head, and passing the shard of glass back to his half elf companion. "Sorry..."    

"Maybe it's a symptom of something." Keyleth murmured, examining the shard she had picked up very carefully, licking her finger and rubbing it against the glass. "Like when they melt the whitestone?"    

After a moment Keyleth tossed the glass shard away. Vax slithered through to the back of the group, moving back up the long hall, and melting into the darkness. I shivered, a chill running down my spine, and my breath puffed out cold in the frigid air. Why was it suddenly so cold? An undefinable sense of dread settled over me.    

"Look out!" My brother called, drawing his pistol in one fluid extremely practiced motion. And at the same moment Vax's voice shouted "We got company."


	18. The Dark Descent

The air was suddenly shockingly cold, every breath coming out as thick steam. Tiny spider threads of frost were creeping out from the tombs on either side of the mausoleum, spreading across the floor in a deadly sparkling sheet. Out of one of the tombs on the right, like some creeping thing from a nightmare, crawled a half formed creature made of mist, that tumbled over the edge of the stone coffin and began to draw itself to its feet. Another, on the other side of the mausoleum, melted through the wall, a thick web of frost spreading across the wall as the creature walked though it. With a loud crack, Percy shot at the one that had crawled out of the coffin, a plume of dark smoke rising from the gun. The bullet passed through the phantom harmlessly, cracking against the stone, and ricocheting into the ceiling.      

"We need magic." My brother shouted, spinning the barrels of his gun, and locking a new one into place. This shot exploded outward with a flash of fire, visibly impacting with the figure this time, and there was a flash of enchanted fire that burst outward from the bullet as it hit, and the phantom snarled at the attack. Spinning the barrel to a new chamber again, Percy let off a third shot, that impacted with a magical burst of ice, that formed inside the creature then dropped to the ground.    

The phantoms seemed to take very little notice of this. One crawled across the floor, reaching up to embrace Grog, while the other wrapped its arms around Keyleth from behind. Instead of doing any damage, both figures melted into Grog and Keyleth, disappearing from view. When the two lifted their heads, all signs of both Keyleth and Grog were gone, their eyes alight with a weird parasitic intelligence controlling their bodies.    

"Cas." Percy said, swiftly reloading the two spent chambers of his weapon. "What the hell do we do?"    

"I'm not a holy woman!" I exclaimed helplessly. "I have no symbols, I have no power, I have nothing!"    

With this began altogether the strangest, and most terrifying fight I had ever witnessed. For while the men and women around me exchanged blows, they all still looked like me or my brother. I was surrounded by exact copies of myself and my family, all fighting each other viciously, and had I not been caught up in the adrenaline of the moment, I probably would have laughed at the ridiculous comedy of the sight.    

Snapping the chambers of his gun back into place, Percy vanished back into the shadows, pursuing after Vax. I heard his gun go off, but the sound was wrong, too muffled, and I heard Percy swearing profusely, cursing his god awful luck. Scanlan meanwhile, whipped out a tiny scroll from some hidden pocket in his outfit, and with a flourish he began to read it. There was a burst of energy from the scroll, like warm sunlight, that rippled outward, and the paper desolved into a floating beacon of light hovering next to Scanlan. The wave of warm energy from the spell passed through the possessed forms of both Keyleth and Grog, and both snarled, the intelligent light in their eyes flickering as if it had been injured.    

"Trinket!" Vex'ahlia called out to her bear, backing away from the hulking figure of Grog, and into one of the open tombs "Cannonball!"    

With submissive obedience, the giant bear lowered his head, taking several steps back, until his vast haunches were pressed up agains the wall. For a moment he braced himself, his claws digging into the stone floor, then he took a bounding run forward. As he ran he put his head down, and shoved off from the floor with his back legs, doing an entire rolling summersault. The bear's stubby front legs gathered up his hindquarters, turning his body into a rolling boulder covered in brown fur.    

Scanlan, the one closest to Trinket, yelped, his eyebrows going up, and he tried to dive out of the rolling bear's way. But before he could dodge Trinket slammed into him, flattening the tiny copy of my brother to the ground, and rolling over him. The bear had too much momentum to stop now, and continued to roll, buffeting the possessed form of Keyleth who barely managed to roll out of the way. At last with a grunt Trinket slammed into Grog's towering form, on whom the bear's impact had as much effect as if he had met a brick wall. The bear tumbled backwards, landing awkwardly on his bottom, and he moaned plaintively up at the unmoved Grog on whom he had made almost no affect.    

"Good job Trinket!" Vex praised enthusiastically, releasing an arrow that sank less than an inch into the half giant's shoulder.

Grog hardly flinched, and his head whipped over his shoulder, starring down the slender woman who had dared to shoot him, and the ghostly presence controlling him hissed venomously. The mountain that was my fake brother, raised his hammer, which besides the difference in hight, was the only thing that helped me remember that it was Grog instead of Percy. A second burst of the same warm energy radiated out from Scanlan, and he stumbled for a second before bringing the hammer down. Twice he slammed into Vex's image of me, first crushing her against the floor, then up against the wall, and she slid back down to a standing position breathing hard.    

Once again ripping his shirt open, Scanlan screamed dramatically "YAAAAAAAAH," and a second wave of force burst from him, impacting Keyleth and Grog with a clap of thunder. Keyleth doubled over, clutching her stomach, and once again Grog endured the force with no more reaction than a stationary stone. Vax appeared out of the shadows, still looking like my brother, but he had daggers instead of a gun, and his face (what I could read of it under this damned magical disguise) was shaken. Scanlan noticed him, his face lighting up. Brushing the sweaty hair out of his eyes, and raising his hand to the heavens as if struck with divine inspiration from the gods themselves, Scanlan began to sing at the top of his lungs, posing as if he was on the world's stage from which all the people of the earth watched and admired.    

"Rip out someone's tongue and I'll know you," the gnome sang, pointing at Vax, "kill someone dead and I'll show you. You got those moves with dagger, you got those moves with dagger, you got those mooooves like dagger!" Vax only rolled his eyes, but smiled none the less, looking less shaken than he had been before.    

Once again the same warm energy burst out, this time impacting Keyleth, who hissed angrily. Then she shook off the pain, and attacked the newly encouraged Vax'ildan with her staff. Caught off guard he took the strike, the possessed form of Keyleth hitting him as viciously as she could. But he was prepared for a second attack, and ducked underneath the strike.    

"Trinket!" Vex once again commanded, this time her voice tinged with urgency, as Grog's form towered menacingly over her. Trinket leapt up onto Grog's shoulders, dragging long gashes down the possessed half giant's back. But Grog still ignored the bear, the intelligence that controlled his body still intent on Vex, and she called out quaveringly. "Um help?"    

The call for help pushed me into action, and I smoothly drew Traitor, feeling the blade's perfect balance in my hand. Low to the the ground, I also leapt on Grog from behind, stabbing down as hard as I could. Trying to make an impact on the thick muscles of the half giant in front of me, was like trying to stab old tree roots, and my sword only gave me an anchor to hold onto without doing much damage, but my dagger did better. Drawing the thin blade, I brought it down, and with the combination of the blade's sharpness, and my own expertise, it found a mark. Going deep under the skin, I sliced into the half giant's spine, and felt a satisfactory growl of pain from Grog. This offered the distraction that Trinket hadn't been, and as I dropped back to the ground Grog turned to face me.    

I was facing off against my brother, or a much larger, more aggressive copy of my brother, and I shrank away. My grip on Traitor was one of iron, and I had to remind myself that it was actually Grog in front of me, the resemblance was so uncanny. With an angry roar the giant in front of me raised his hammer. But as he did, there was a second burst of warm sunlight energy, and I saw the possessive intelligence in Grog's eyes dissipate, banished by the residual magic of the scroll.    

"Grog," Scanlan said as the half giant came back into control, "I know you don't know what's going on, but kill Keyleth."    

For a moment Grog paused, the image of my brother's face twisting thoughtfully, as the half giant underneath considered the command sluggishly. Then his face cleared, and he grinned eagerly. "Ok."    

The sound of Percy's gun interrupted this conversation, and my whole attention was instantly dragged toward the sound. Vax'ildan cried out in pain, stumbling as three bullets struck him in the back, and he stumbled to the side, taking cover against one of the tombs. I could see my real brother in the distance, his gun arm raised, and a third alien intelligence glowed in his eyes, controlling his body. Concern bloomed in my stomach, my whole mind fixed on my brother.    

Cracking his neck, Scanlan turned toward Percy, then thrust out his pelvis. From the tiny man's nether regions, a crackling line of lightning spewed forth, striking into both Keyleth and Percy in the distance. Keyleth with a hiss crumpled to the ground, the woman's body going unconscious, while the possessive mist was forced out of her body and reappeared next to her. It looked extremely weak, its form much smaller, and it flickered, moving much more sluggishly, as if it was keeping a solid form with difficulty.    

I lunged away from the clustered people around me, moving toward my brother in the distance. What I hoped to do to him, I couldn't tell, but I felt that once I reached him I would do something. Two arrows hissed over my shoulder, the first one striking through the ejected phantom with a burst of magical fire, and it's form was torn to shreds. The other struck at Percy in the distance, who doubled over, and I felt a small protective burst of indignation.    

"Com'ere Percy!" Grog said, bounding past me, and he brandished the hammer as he came, slamming into my brother twice. Percy stumbled as Grog struck him, his breathing a little ragged, and blood tinged the corner of his mouth. Clumsily my possessed brother tried to dodge away from Grog, but a third strike crushed him to the ground, and my brother crumpled.     The creature that had possessed him was banished, like Keyleth's had been, and slashed down at Percy's body. It left gashes across my brother's back, but they didn't bleed, and I could see all the skin around the wounds turning gray, as if all the life was sucked out of them. Spidery threads of frost spread over my brother's clothes where he was struck, and I felt a thrill of fear run through me.    

Vax appeared behind me from out of nowhere, and sent two daggers through the darkness, that both collided with the creature. Brushing past me, the half elven man took a protective stance over my brother, standing between the phantom and his body. Scanlan in the distance vaulted over Keyleth's unconscious form, but his shorter legs weren't able to bring him all the way to Percy's fallen body, and he stopped several feet away. Gathering himself, he made a similar throwing motion, like I had seen Keyleth do in professor Ander's study, and Percy suddenly drew in a ragged breath, life coming back into his limp form.    

Glaring hatefully at the still lingering creature, Scanlan raised his hands and cupped them around his mouth, magic warping his voice, as if he were speaking through a magical filter. "You're not even corporeal!" He jeered, pointing a finger viciously, as if he were the most incurable gossip. "You have no substance! You're a nothin', you're a nobody, you won't amount to nothin' in this world! You were nothing in life, and now you're nothing in death!" Then he theatrically gestured as if he were spitting at the creature, "Fuh!"    

The creature listened to this, its frenzied motion slowing, until I could see the figure behind the mist. It looked like a young man, not much older than me, with dark brown hair, blue eyes, and in the ceremonial robes someone important being buried. Silently it looked down at Percy, who was still breathing hard, barely conscious, and it moaned. With a last sob it vanished, the form dissipating into nothingness.    

"Scanlan." Percy said, still out of breath. "Which one of my ancestors did you just shame to death? Again."    

"The one that tried to kill you?" Scanlan offered.    

As soon as I found an opening, I hurried to my brother's side, eagerly supporting him against my arm. I carefully examined his face, glad to see that he seemed at least functioning, if not quite unhurt. Percy silently patted my arm as I looked at him, and murmured "I'm alright Cas, stop being such an idiot." I laughed, and shoved him half heartedly, but still lingered near him affectionately.    

Vax'ildan meanwhile bent over the fallen form of Keyleth, lifting her into his lap, and helping her as best he could. With his help, it didn't take her long to come back to consciousness, and she sat dazed for a moment. Then she realized where she was, who was supporting her in his lap, and instantly pulled away, blushing ridiculously. Everyone else settled down to rest, an unspoken agreement to catch our breath hanging in the air. Scanlan pulled out his lute, and began to pluck out a quiet tune that everyone listened to as we rested.    

"We can rest here for a moment," I said at last, breaking the silence that had fallen. "But I don't think we can stay here much longer. The more time we spend here, the more chance they have of returning, and if they get the jump on us...We're done..."    

"Grog," Keyleth said, as everyone began to stir, preparing for the next part of the journey. "Speaking of, how many health potions do you have? We might need to redistribute."    

"I've got a shitload." Grog said, brandishing a small satchel he had at his waist, with the strap over his chest. "I never use em'..."    

"I am all out of tricks, just about," Vax said soberly. "So may I have a good one, please Grog?"    

"Oh boy, is everyone gonna want a piece of dis pie?" Grog said, his face lighting up, and he clutched tightly onto the satchel. Then he tilted up his head, hitching up his chin, and regarding Vax with narrowed eyes. "Well, wot are you off'ring?"    

"I am offering..." Vax said, considering the question for a moment. "Safety for your facial hair, from now into the unknown..."    

"Nope," Grog refused, tyrannically holding onto his prize. "Gimme somethin' else."    

"No?! Well now it's in danger..." Vax hinted, as if he were about to vandalize Grog's beard on the spot.    

"I like those pointy daggers you 'ave."    

"He could promise safety for your life, Grog." Keyleth suggested. "He'll have your back."    

"'Ow could he 'ave my back, if its on me?" Grog said, his slow comprehension struggling to understand the phrase, and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if they were trying to steal his skin from him.    

"I will..." Vax said, steeling his resolve. "Let you flick me hard in the nads. Should we survive."    

Grog's face lit up, and he suggested "'ow about you let me flick you now. An' then I give you a healin' potion."    

"Can we take another rest after that?" Vax asked, clearly dreading the prospect of letting Grog flick him in exchange for a healing potion, and he slowly got to his feet.    

"It'll be a little 'un," Grog assured him. "I won't even go into a rage. It'll jus' be a little tap on your walnut."    

"I will do this trade." Vax said, gathering his courage, then after a moment, "...oh god..."    

Scanlan with a wicked grin, flicked his wrist, and a glowing ethereal target appeared in front of Vax's crotch. The half elf, looking like a cornered animal, backed up against the wall, supporting himself against the stone. Grog with a show stretching and cracking his knuckles, bent down in front of Vax. Sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, Grog considered his positioning, as deliberate as an artist intent upon his work. Then he flicked him. Vax bit down hard on his lip, curling in on himself as if to contain his pain, and at last whispered "fuck..."    

"A'right, I'm satisfied." Grog said, straightening, and he reached into the satchel. But instead of functioning like a normal bag, Grog's arm went in all the way past his elbow, and he drew out a potion. Vax quietly took the potion, still not trusting himself to speak.    

"An' Percy," Grog said, drawing out two more small potions, and turning to my real brother. "I like it when you turn into da smoke thing, so you don't 'ave to take a nut shot."    

"Thank you Grog," Percy said as he took the two vials. "I offer the satisfaction of Vax knowing that I got them for nothing."    

"I myself don't have anything I could use to protect myself," I murmured hesitantly. "Does anyone have something that they could offer?"    

"Ah yes, hello!" Scanlan said, perking up as soon as I spoke. "Hi, I look like your brother, but I'm shorter. You can have one of mine." From some pocket, hidden by the magical illusion that made him look like Percy, Scanlan drew a potion and passed it to me. With silent understanding, the real Percy next to me passed me another one.    

"But real quick," Scanlan said, as I tucked the two potions away. "Percival, any point in looting the--"    

"Don't loot _my family's_ crypt!" Percy cut him off indignantly.    

"Of course, sorry, sorry..."    

"Lets just start heading down there," Percy said, after shaking his head disbelievingly at the gnome. "And...I can't believe I'm saying this...we'll have Vax scout ahead."    

"Don't DO anything!" Vex'ahlia commanded her brother savagely.    

"And do you remember the new codeword Vax?" Percy asked sternly.    

"No," Vax said, "did we change the codeword?"    

"Yes! It's now Jenga, one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand, six one thousand, seven one thousand, eight one thousand, nine one thousand, ten." Percy recited severely. "Then you go."    

"Grog just flicked me in the nuts, I'm not doing that. I'll just say Jenga." Vax said, then added, seeing his sister's frown of disapproval, "I mean I'll wait for a bit, so long as no more of your siblings are in danger. I did do that for a reason."    

"We know." Percy said fairly. "I consider the matter settled."    

"There's no way to know exactly what was going to happen, but I saw a blade against your sister's throat. I would hope that you would do the same for my sister..." Vax argued. "And, just hypothetically speaking. Scanlan back me up. If you were to turn into some sort of...giant three horned beast...and then go running into, say, a house full of enemies, we would give him a similar talking to. Correct?"    

"That would never happen." Scanlan said soberly. "I'm more measured than all of you."    

"We don't actually believe that he will listen to sense," Percy said with a shrug. "So..."    

"I'm Percy!" Scanlan declared  brightly, proudly displaying the magical illusion over his body, and making an effort to copy my brother's stance and manner of carrying himself.     

"Honestly," Percy said wearily, looking down at this ridiculous display, "we just can't waste our breath really."    

"Just to point this out," Scanlan said, dropping his imitation of Percy, and becoming serious again. "Before we go in and kill ourselves: we have evidence now, we could abandon this whole thing and go fight our day in court..."    

"I want to see what they're building down here," Percy said, "and I worry that it will be dangerous."    

"You're saying," Keyleth questioned, turning to Scanlan, "that we just abandon this entire town? This entire revolution that we caused?!"    

"People are putting their lives on the line." Vax'ildan said quietly. "And Sovereign Uriel is suspect now, he's been corrupted, he's not trustworthy. There's no point in going back."    

"And I can't leave again until this is taken care of." Percy added, that same icy resolve chilling his voice for a moment.    

"Right," Scanlan said. Then he suddenly turned to Keyleth and added scathingly, "that was a stupid, stupid, suggestion Keyleth."    

"What?" Keyleth said, completely caught off guard. The others only laughed, but Grog, apparently the only one unable to tell the difference between Scanlan and Keyleth said, "I'm really disappointed in you Keyleth!"    

"And Cassandra, I want to say something a little frank..." Vax'ildan said, suddenly turning to me, his voice hard and almost accusatory. "I'm very happy that we found you, I'm very happy that you and Percival have been reunited, but we have been burned very badly in the past by seeming allies. Past experience has taught us to be very careful, and we are all watching you, for signs of corruption or control. I want to believe that you are in control of your faculties, but I don't fully trust that you are, and I think just letting you know that a knife could hit your back as soon as the slightest misstep happens, is maybe enough to insure some safety for this group."    

"Of course." I said, smiling sadly. "It is true I've been living with them in this castle for the past three years, not out of choice of course, but were I in your position, would think the same."    

"Onward?" Scanlan suggested, and the others slowly got to their feet. Percy gestured to the gaping earthen tunnel that awaited us, and said, "Vax?"

The half elf, taking his hint, moved to the front of the group. Keeping low to the ground, and making almost no sound as he moved, he began to scout ahead into the tunnel. But before he had gone out of sight, a tiny yellow light flared in the darkness, flickering like a firefly in the tunnel. Without hesitation Vax reached towards it, and it brightened. As he grasped it, the light grew into a hand, faintly glowing. A face emerged from the darkness, followed by a body, and finally a voice.    

"I'm back!" The figure said, as they emerged completely from the darkness. It looked like the tiny face and body of a second female gnome, this one dressed in heavy plate armor, with a shield, and a very prominent holy symbol that was glowing brightly. But her form was almost see-through at the edges, formed out of golden light itself, that radiated outward from the holy symbol, as if its power was giving her physical form.    

"Oh, Pike I'm so glad you're here!!!" Grog crowed exultantly. Loosing his head completely in his excitement, the half giant heedlessly shoved through the group, and roughly seizing the tiny woman in his arms, lifting her in the air.    

"Hello Grog!" Pike said, laughing at his display, and she affectionately head butted him as hard as she could. Then drawing back and looking at him, she frowned in confusion. "But you don't look like Grog..."    

"Oh, yeah, it's me." Grog said, finally setting her down.    

"Pike, what happened?!" Scanlan asked eagerly. "You disappeared before, but now you're back? Are you here to stay, or what's going on?"    

"I'm here to stay for as long as I can." Pike said reassuringly, gesturing down at her half substantial form. "It's very hard to stay in this form, especially because this place is very, very dark, and sometimes I just get pulled away...So I'm going to stay as long as I can...How are you guys? Are you okay? Where are you at, in terms of health?"    

"Vax is hurtin' a little 'cause I hit him in the nuts." Grog said proudly.    

"Oh, Grog..."    

"And we have a new member." Scanlan said, turning and looking up at me. "Well, a new traveling companion. This is Cassandra de Rolo."    

"The actual real Cassandra." Vex'ahlia added, looking down wryly at the illusion that made her look like me.    

"It's so very nice to finally meet you," Pike said, stepping up to look at me, and I suddenly felt as if I had nothing on. There was something about the warm eyes of this tiny gnome that made me feel as if I could willingly share every single thought I'd ever hidden or been ashamed of, and find a kindly listener. She smiled gently, lifting her tiny hand all the way above her head so that it would reach my height. "I'm Pike."    

Her hand felt soft, almost liquid, not fully solid, and there was a strange warmth to it. She was very short, even a few inches smaller than Scanlan, all her proportions diminutive and petite. Like Percy her hair was white, but it looked less stark and unnatural than his, pulled back into a braided bun at the back of her head, and her round eyes were a very warm shade of sky blue. Freckles were scattered over her small nose, and on her arms. But contradicting her warm appearance and bright smile, her armor was very functional, and though well maintained, was clearly used, and she had a spiked mace at her back, ready to her hand. A blue bandana was knotted around her neck, and trailing out from underneath on a long chain was her holy symbol. It was shaped like a spiked star, with longer and shorter rays, but I couldn't immediately identify the deity associated with the symbol. Unlike the rest of her gear this religious emblem was in perfect condition, lovingly polished, and I could see from the buffed look of the metal that it had been handled many times.    

"It is my pleasure to have good people around me, for once." I said as I shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you, young gnome."    

"Well, shall we keep moving then?" Vex'ahlia suggested, after bending down to give Pike a hug.    

"Now we're def'nately gonna kick some ass." Grog said, his teeth bared.    

"With Pike with us," Scanlan declared enthusiastically, "we can do anything!"    

"You're here because Sarenrae willed you to be." Vax said, patting the top of Pike's head, and respectfully nodding at the holy symbol around her neck. "Now please hide behind giant Percival."    

Pike shrank toward the back of the group, the warm glow of her half solid form lighting up the hallway around her. Trinket perked up when she joined him, snuffling at her affectionately, and trying to lick her face. The two half elf twins, like identical shadows, melted into the darkness first, leading the way for the others. And as the others moved down the tunnel, I followed behind, another silent shadow at the very back of the party.    

Just as I had done when I was alone years ago, we reached the fork in the tunnel, and the twins silently passed the branch that lead toward the acid pits. Turning the corner, we continued to follow the same tunnel downwards, into the bowels of the earth. But unlike the last time I had come, Vax'ildan discovered and marked two places on the tunnel floor, where he commanded us not to put our feet. The first, even I could see was a trap: several stones laid neatly across the hallway, waiting for someone to put pressure on them. At the second, I could see that the ground had been disturbed, and skirted it without much issue.    

At last we reached the door. This was where I had been defeated before. Everything looked just the same, the mixed metal material in front of us was the same, and the door was closed, just as it had been last time. Pulling out a set of thieve's tools, Vax crouched in front of the door, searching for a lock, but he discovered just as I had, that it was only barred.    

"Oh, it won't open, it won't open--" Vax said, pushing against the door, than suddenly exclaimed "whoa!!!" pushing open the unlocked door like he was performing a magic trick. Motioning to the others to stay back, Vax slithered through the cracked door, and vanished into the darkness beyond.    

"This is a room, made entirely of metal, that presumably did not exist five years ago..." Vax explained gravely when he reappeared moments later. "I think this is probably bad...Sister dear, would you help me look, just from the door please. Just look."

Both twins now moved up to the door, and after a moment Vex pushed it open, allowing everyone a shadowed view into the chamber.    

"Scanlan," Grog said, "shoot a lightning bolt."    

"No, in a moment please!" Vax said, waving the half giant off.

Quietly Keyleth stepped forward, and as she stepped up to the door one of her hands suddenly burst into flame, and she thrust her burning fist into the room, revealing the alien metal in all its strangeness. The room was still as cold and unnerving as it had been last time, weirdly quiet so that the slightest sound was magnified, and the same chilling affect settled over everyone as the stepped into the room one by one.    

"This is as far as I've gone down here." I said in a reverent murmur, that the metal walls magnified, sending back echoes that were far louder than my voice had been.    

"Do you know what's on the other side?" Vex'ahlia asked.    

"I assume the project..." I said with a shrug. "Last time I came here, I was following the Briarwoods at a distance, when I made it to this door it was empty on the inside. I assume they traveled through that far door, but I've not actually gone there myself, it was at that point that I was discovered, and dragged back up to the castle."    

"Did you make it to the acid pits?" My brother asked, stepping up next to me and looking into the room.    

"Back that way?" Pointing back up the tunnel. "I saw them from a distance, but I didn't want to get to close. They're just large troughs that these chemicals have been refined in, and for what ever purpose they've been kept there."    

"Percy and Cassandra," Keyleth said, passing her burning hand back and forth in front of the metal to get a closer look at it. "Does this material mean anything to you? The bronze: does it keep any type of energy out, or something in? Why build a room out of bronze?"    

"I'd like to get a better look." Percy said, stepping up to examine the metal.    

"Do any of the magic users make anything of this?" Vax asked searchingly, glancing at Keyleth, Scanlan, and Pike.    

"God, I don't even know." Keyleth whispered, gesturing hopelessly. "I'm not good with magic, I'm good with nature..."    

Vax'ildan, who had been carefully moving toward the metal groove in the floor, suddenly stiffened. As soon as he did, everyone stopped and looked at him, perfectly aware of his movements. Silently he pointed down into the trough, where a smooth white gem had been embedded in the floor. This at last was a difference, last time I had come, there had been no such stone on the floor. But even though it was new, I did recognize the material: the hidden stone that I had seen Anna use the last time I was here, had been made of the same stone.    

"Could we clear out," Vex prompted, "and I'll try to shoot that?"    

Obediently everyone filed out of the room, clustering around the door. Vex, standing just outside the threshold, methodically knocked an arrow, drawing the string tight all the way back to her cheek. For a long moment she silently deliberated, taking careful aim, then she suddenly released. The arrow leapt from the bow, and struck the stone perfectly in the center, but with a loud ping it bounced off and vanished into the shadows.    

"Aw...it did nothing..." Vex said, her arms dropping to her sides.    

"Does anybody else have a good idea?" Percy said, stepping back into the room, and looking over the gem from a distance as Vax had done.    

"Why don't we just walk past it?" Scanlan suggested.    

"I'm kind of with Scanlan," Keyleth put in doubtfully, "I say we just go."    

"In the absence of good ideas," Percy said, "bad ideas I think are always reasonable."    

"But maybe Scanlan's idea was a good idea." Keyleth argued.    

"Maybe just try to get through the room." Vex agreed, adding, "some of us stay on one side, and some of us go through. And we'll just see what happens to the first person."    

"As long as the rest of you will pick me up off the ground, I'd like to skirt the edge of the room, and see if I can make it to the other door." Vax'ildan humbly offered, respectfully seeking the approval of his sister and potential love interest, who had both already scolded him for risking his life without having the others there to back him up. "Please help me if I fall down."    

"Sure." Scanlan conceded.    

"After a good giggle." The half giant added cheerfully, as if he wanted something to go horribly wrong, just for the fun of it.    

Intently everyone watched as Vax melted into the room, waiting to see what would happen to him. Low to the ground, and somehow completely silent, despite the magnifying echoes, he slid along the edge of the wall, dropped down into the trough across the floor, and leapt up onto the platform on the other side. Completely unharmed, he pulled out another dagger, this one clearly magical, as reddish orange flames licked the up the blade as he drew it. Using this blade like a torch, his light revealed the solid stone door on the other side of the room, which I had previously been unable to open. The half elf lifted his hand to one ear, intently examining the door, and Grog without any signal or command to do so, suddenly stepped into the bronze room. Brazenly he crossed to the other side, and reaching into the seemingly bottomless satchel over his shoulder, drew out a pickax, with which he tried to open the door.    

Taking the success of both Grog and Vax as a sign that the room was safe, the others began walking into the room, examining the stone in the floor. It turned out that this gem wasn't the only new addition either. Six other gems, (a set of three on each side of the room), had been planted on the walls above the trough. Grog meanwhile hadn't managed to do anything more to the door than scratch it with the pickax. Grunting angrily, he suddenly swung the pick down as hard as he could, and the pointed head broke away from the wooden handle.    

"Stop," Percy said, wisely stopping Grog before he could begin beating at the door uselessly with his wooden stick. "We're not thinking about this clearly."    

"We've been beaten by doors before," Scanlan said tragically, throwing a hand to his head, and posing like a defeated hero. "But goddammit, I'm not gonna be beaten today."    

Resolutely Scanlan pressed down on the gemstone in the center of the room. The stone didn't shift, but when the gnome pulled his hand away, it was glowing faintly, and the light faded as soon as he stopped touching it. Eagerly he touched the stone again, Vex, Keyleth, and my brother all rushing to do the same. Their stones too, glowed when they touched them, and Scanlan triumphantly called out "touch one of the stones Grog!" Obediently the half giant strode to the nearest gem, and placed his hammy fist on top of it. After hesitating for a moment Vax'ildan also touched a gem, leaving only one left.     

"Cassandra," Scanlan barked, "make yourself useful for Christ sakes."    

"Who's Christ?" Vax asked curiously.    

"A friend I knew, back where I'm from."    

As I moved to touch the final stone, Pike reached it first. Her glowing etherial form, almost made of light itself, illuminated the inside of the chamber as she stepped into it. But as she put her hand on the gem nothing happened.    

"This is _totally_ going to work..." Vex said sarcastically.    

"Maybe if we all think about the strength of our friendship, and bond together." Keyleth said hopefully, screwing her eyes shut and concentrating as hard as she could.    

"Hold on, hold on." Scanlan interrupted her. "As much as I love Pike, you aren't a real person right now. Maybe we should swap out Pike?"

However when the phantom gnome pulled her hand away, the stone was glistening under her touch, and Scanlan said "oh sorry...Never mind Pike, I love you."    

As this conversation had been passing back and forth, I, with nothing else to do, also had sneaking suspicion at the back of my mind. I crossed the room, bending down to search for the hidden gem I had seen Anna use. In the dim light it was difficult to see, but as Scanlan apologized to Pike, I spotted the same saucer sized metal plate I had seen before. Just as I had seen Anna do, I pulled up the metal, and it lifted readily in my hand, revealing the gem underneath. Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand on the hidden gem.    

The room shuddered, as hidden contraptions shifted, and a fine rain of dust fell from above. Sending another shudder through the room, two thick walls of green Residuum glass dropped out of the ceiling, locking in place on either side of the trough with a crash, trapping everyone but myself into the depression on the floor.    

"Fuck." Grog said, pulling his hand away from the stone in front of him, and gazing up at the walls that trapped him in.    

"Goddammit." Percy exploded, understanding dawning in his face.    

"Wait!" Vex said, throwing her hands up compromisingly, "maybe it's a transporter?"    

"It's not." Percy declared, frowning darkly. "I think I know what it is."    

"What do you mean, you think you know what it is?" Keyleth demanded fearfully.    

"We've got to get out of here right now." Percy shouted urgently, jerking his hand away from the gemstone.    

Fear, mixed sudden understanding, constricted my throat. I also knew what this room was for, and blind denial swirled among my other wild emotions. Hurriedly I started up from the ground, crossing the tiny platform I was standing on in one stride, and pressing myself up against the glass.    

"Is everyone alright?" I demanded through the glass, pushing vainly against the wall between me and them, even though I knew I couldn't shift it.    

"Grog," Scanlan called out, "can you hit it?"    

With a wild yell, Grog slammed his hammer into the glass. It hardly reacted to his blow, sparks and a few tiny shards of glass flying off from the strike. Fueled by frustration he hit it again. Keyleth clasping both hands on her staff, brought it down as hard as she could, and a shockwave of force burst outward from her. Everyone near her was thrown off their feet, and a clap of thunder echoed deafeningly around the metal walls of the room, but the magical force of the spell scattered uselessly across the green glass, doing no damage at all.    

Behind me I heard the stone door shift, but I didn't turn. There was no need. A familiar instinctive chill ran down my spine, and I shuddered, instantly bitten to the core, but I didn't have to see who it was behind me. I already knew.


	19. Cassandra Briarwood

Lady Briarwood stepped into the room first. The stone door lifted up into the ceiling, and when Delilah appeared, she had never looked so beautiful. Her entrance was an instant, chilling, reaffirmation of everything I had resolved to do in my effort to protect her. Silas entered behind her, his presence so commanding, the room seemed too small to fit him. The force of his personality was a smothering blanket over the vigor of mine, and I felt myself shrink as soon as he entered, absorbed by the ideals he had long imposed on me and that governed every choice I made.  
      
"Oh," Vex'ahlia said, the first of my brother's friends to notice the Briarwood's entrance amid the chaos, and she laughed spitefully. "Is this your room? I didn't even realize we were in your house right now! How good to see you again darling."   
    
It was an unnerving thing, seeing an image of myself, however separate from me, speak with such hostility. The sight prompted a strange sense of guilt, even though I knew it wasn't really me.   
     
"And hello to you too. Welcome to all of you." Silas said tolerantly to the the sour half elf, coiling a supportive arm around his wife's shoulders as he turned to look at her. "Well, my dear?"  
      
"I was hoping for a more formal reunion." Delilah said with a smile that had no warmth. "But you insisted on riling up the populous, and tying up the bulk of our forces. Rather unfortunate really--"  
   
Before she could finish speaking, Vax'ildan gathered the thick material of his cloak around his body, and blinked out of sight. With a flash he reappeared in the empty hallway behind Silas and Delilah, just outside the bronze room. As he reappeared he slammed his hand against the wall, where I could now see there was a flat stone placard against the wall. The stone moved when he put his hand on it, and once again I heard the shift and grind of unseen machinery.  
   
"Well I wasn't expecting you to want to see your friends dissolved quite so quickly." Silas said with a laugh "However...it doesn't hurt to have friends..." I could see the transformation, the moment of truth when Silas's eyes met Vax's. It was so simple, so easy, the work of a moment. The half elf's aggression and hostility melted away, replaced by contrition, and a trust as unshakable as my own.  
     
"Thankfully, we were ahead on our Residuum productions," Silas continued smoothly as he turned back to the unfortunates still caught in the trap. The whole transformation had taken only moments, costing him no almost no effort. "A few minor modifications to our distillery room made an excellent trap for you." 

Metal tubes, one on either side of the room, slid out of the wall, still empty but threatening. Percy drawing one of his pistols, shot into one of the tubes, and enchanted ice from the shot formed inside the pipe, blocking its flow. With a gurgling splash, familiar greenish gray acid began to pour out of the unblocked pipe. A sharp biting smell began to fill the room, as more acid continued to pour at a frightening rate into the trap, spreading slowly across the floor. The feeling of barely contained panic rose in my chest, bringing tears to my eyes, and when I looked at Vax standing next to Silas, I could read a similar look of conflicted terror on his face. Both of us were torn.  
      
"A bit unceremonious, but I'm not in the mood to break a sweat today." Delilah said with a hint of feminine vindictive triumph over her enemy. Turning to Silas, as if utterly careless of what happened now, she said "we're still weeks off from being ready, and I still have much work today."   
      
Vex'ahlia hurriedly drawing a potion from some hidden pouch in her clothing, drank the vial, and dropped the bottle in the acid. The bottle melted, its form sagging, until the acid destroyed it completely. For a moment it looked as if the potion had done nothing, then as its effects settled over her, the half elf woman began to float upward in the air, seemingly weightless, and she pulled her feet out of the acid. 

The sound of a second enchanted gunshot, this one failing to clog the other pipe, instantly recalled my brother to my mind. It brought me out of my frozen panic, and I leapt across the room, putting my hands against the glass. Desperately I tried to find my brother amid the several copies of him, but in the confusion I couldn't place him.  
      
"Which one is my Percy?" I demanded, pressing up against the glass.   
      
One of the several detached itself from the others, coming up to the other side of the glass. He was smiling, pointedly unconcerned with the dire circumstance, and his total oblivion made me smile. Truly, my brother had been trained well. The world could have been falling about his ears, and yet he would have looked on with utter unconcern.  
      
"Its alright, we'll see you soon." My brother said gently, his hand aligning with mine on the other side of the glass, and he nodded reassuringly. "We're going to be fine. Go."  
     
"Percy..." I faltered, wishing I could cut out my own tongue instead of say this. But he was my brother. He deserved the truth at least. "Your sister left us the day those arrows found my chest. She did not die from those wounds, but to watch you leave me there in the snow...I had no family..." Percy bowed his head, and for a moment the words caught in my throat. But I forced the confession out. "I am a Briarwood, and I have a destiny with the Whispered One..." 

Percy only nodded. And for one moment, as he bowed his head, my brother looked old. He was ancient, bowed under an intolerable weight, and I drew back, aghast at the ruin I glimpsed behind his mask.   
      
"Don't worry my dear." A warm hand touched my shoulder, as Delilah's voice murmured comfortingly in my ear, and she gently drew me away from the glass. "It'll be over soon."  
      
Shivering I yielded to her touch, and Percy, head still bowed, drew his hands away from the green wall that stood between us. We were becoming separated from each other by more than just a wall. As the Briarwoods turned away, Vex'ahlia drew a black arrow from her quiver, and savagely shot it at the green wall, hardly making an effort to aim. The arrow exploded upon contact with the glass, sending a shudder through the room, as we stepped out of the chamber. Looking regretfully back at his sister, Vax followed Silas and Delilah out of the room, half lingering as if he wanted to stay. Then the stone door slid back into place, and we were alone.  
      
"Well, at last thats over with." Delilah said, breathing out a sigh of relief.   
      
Silas disengaged a torch from its bracket in the wall, and giving Lady Briarwood his arm, led the way forward with the light. This was all entirely new territory. I had never seen any of this tunnel before, and as we walked forward, I stealthily observed the passage around me. It was carved through the earth, no longer descending, but continuing straight and perfectly level, reinforced with blocks of whitestone masonry. We very swiftly continued forward, the Lord and Lady obviously traveling a stretch of passage they had many times traversed. As we walked forward, the half elf Vax kept glancing down at his hand, where a holy symbol had been stitched into the back of his glove. It looked like the same star shaped token that Pike had hanging around her neck, and for what ever reason this rayed star absorbed his attention.   
      
Ahead of us, the passage came to an end, as the tunnel widened out into blackness. Next to me I felt Vax shudder, as he stopped in his tracks, and glanced over his shoulder. I took another hesitating step forward, but the half elf didn't follow, and I glanced fearfully at Silas and Delilah, hissing "what are you doing? We should keep going, or they'll be angry." Vax waved me into silence, one hand lingering at his ear. For a moment I thought he was going to go running back the way he had come, back to his sister, and I genuinely considered going with him if he did.  
      
"Keep up please," Silas commanded sternly, startling us both. "There's work to be done."  
      
Obediently we followed, Vax once again absorbed by the holy symbol in his glove, and after casting a disapproving look in our direction, Silas stepped out into the darkness. It was a truly overwhelming chamber, so large our one torch couldn't possibly pierce the shadows. The walls overhead and on either side of our party vanished into blackness, but even though it was still blindly dark, our torch was no longer the only source of light.  
      
Towering overhead in the distance, like a tiny man made mountain, was a hulking stone structure. It was pyramid shaped, but shelved, like giant stone steps, ascending up to a narrow top. The structure at first was made of whitestone that reflected the light in the room with a ghostly white glimmer, but as it continued to ascend, the white was replaced by a greenish color, until at its summit the entire temple was made of this green material. Even from a distance I recognized the strange greenish color. It was Residuum. But unlike the other glass shards I had seen, this Residuum had a weird unholy greenish glow around it, that illuminated nothing, giving no light or warmth. This could only be one thing. Here at last, was the Ziggurat itself.   
      
As we continued across the black expanse toward this ghostly temple floating in the darkness, I found didn't want to get close to it. A black chill settled over me, as we drew near, and as the blackness over my mind grew, so did the Ziggurat, until it filled all my vision. Then my eyes shrank away, seeking refuge in the dirt floor at my feet. I found myself hunching my shoulders as we walked, as if the Ziggurat's presence were physically pushing against my body, the force of it beat against us as we walked, like an invisible wind.  
      
Now at last Lady Briarwood was beginning to take the lead, stepping in front of her husband, as we began to laboriously climb toward the top of the Ziggurat. Here it was Delilah who was more sure of herself. She might submit to her husband in everything else, but I could see that here, in this one place, she was the one who took control.  
      
A steep line of steps had been carved into the Ziggurat, spanning across each giant shelf of carved masonry. It became more difficult to climb as the whitestone slowly gave way to Residuum. The supplementary material was much more slick than the stone was, and occasionally I slipped slightly despite my extra care. Continuously we climbed, and the steps seemed to go on forever, always one after the other without end. But at last the steep assent came to an end, and we reached the top of the stairs, high above the ground beneath us.   
      
The Ziggurat ended in a flattened top, and a square structure rose in the middle of the summit. A broad footpath skirted the top of the Ziggurat, that was partially shaded by an overhang supported on wide pillars. Underneath this roof, two wide double doors were set into the outer wall of the central structure. Weird symbols, drawn from some dreadful language I had never seen before, were carved around the door, along the edge of the building's overhang, and around the top and bottom of every supportive pillar.  
      
"I think something is about to happen..." Vax'ildan's voice caught my attention. He was muttering softly, almost to himself, one hand at the side of his jaw, as if he were whispering secretively to himself. It was very strange behavior, and I watched him, staying on guard. 

"I'm afraid to ask questions though," he murmured humbly, looking out over the edge of the Ziggurat into the blind darkness that surrounded us. "I don't want to--"  
      
"Who are you talking to lovely boy?" Delilah asked sharply, suddenly noticing the half elf's furtive whispering.  
      
"Oh," Vax said, jumping and holding out his hand with the holy symbol on it. "Sarenrae."

Lady Briarwood's face darkened as she looked down at the symbol. "That's not very welcome here, I would not recommend that." She said, her face and tone both cold and forbidding. "Put it away."  
      
"Yes." The half elf hurriedly put his hands behind his back, in order to cover up the symbol Delilah found so offensive.  
      
"Cassandra." Lady Briarwood said, calling my attention to her face, and I instantly became alert. "Come here."   
      
Moving as swiftly as I could, I crossed the top of the Ziggurat, and joined her in front of the double doors.  
      
"You remember what I told you about the power of sacrifices?"   
      
"The sacrifice mirrors the gift..." I repeated with meek obedience.   
      
"Thats right. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the gift. And I know that sometimes it's a hard sacrifice to make. " Delilah said, smiling sadly. She reached out to take my hand, running her fingers over the palm affectionately. "I must admit, I've become very fond of you my dear. It is not easy for me to ask something so difficult of you. But we are working to achieve a gift of power unlike anything ever bestowed before, and such a boon will require unimaginable sacrifices in return. A gift given willingly has far more value than one that is forcibly taken."  
      
"If you ask it," I murmured submissively, "I will give whatever you wish of me."   
      
"Thank you my dear." Delilah said. "Such a sacrifice will not go unheeded. There will be great power given in return." 

Lady Briarwood crossed the top of the Ziggurat and stopped in front of the large double doors. She quietly drew out a small key, that fitted into the door, and turned it. Both doors with a gentle push, swung inward, revealing an open inner courtyard behind the walls. The building in front of us was open to the sky from the inside, wide and completely empty. Only one wide platform, carved in the outline of a hand, rose out of the ground in the center of the room, and on this hand was the dark orb. It looked darker here, and more threatening than it had been when I had seen it on the eastern tower, like a bead of physical darkness resting on the ground. The walls were covered by a thick sheet of ice, and dark black ice covered the ground, making it slick from the raised hand all the way to the walls. 

But it wasn't dark ice. It was blood, gallons of it, frozen over the ground in a sheet. As we entered I realized that I could see faces behind the ice covered walls. There were bodies, hundreds of them, frozen into the ice. Fear, and exquisite loathing, clenched in my gut, making me shiver uncontrollably. I finally understood what Delilah meant by 'a better sacrifice.' 'Better blood.' This was hundreds of sacrifices, frozen into the walls and floor.  
      
"Cassandra. Come." Delilah ordered, her authority irresistible, and I obeyed her, stepping further into the room.  
      
"Silas," a foreign voice interrupted, "a moment of your time."   
      
It was my brother. I knew him instinctively as soon as I saw him. No more disguises, or magic tricks, this could only be Percy. He had reached the top of the same stairs that we had already climbed, standing feet apart, with his hands behind his back. And even through the darkness around us, I could see that he was smoking, tendrils of dark black vapor curling around his body, flowing out and downwards across the ground. Silas frowned, turning away from the sacrificial chamber, and Delilah, with silent understanding joined him. I shrinkingly followed, and she quietly closed and locked the doors of the chamber.   
      
"We have debts to settle." Percy declared, remaining unmoving at a distance, hands behind his back.  
      
"And apparently," Lord Briarwood said, frowning sourly, "you and your friends are obnoxious enough to not stay dead..."

"They were kind enough to make sure that I made my way here to face you." My brother said, smiling darkly.  
      
"Well perhaps this evening won't be so boring after all, will it my darling?"  
      
"Very well." Delilah said, gracefully stretching her fingers, to prepare for spell-casting.  
      
"The Darkness demands your soul Silas." Percy said, threateningly. 

Moving suddenly, he drew out something small and round from behind his back, and threw it at Silas's feet. With a spark it exploded, bursting outward in a cloud of dense smoke. Lady Delilah and Vax'ildan both vanished from view, obscured by the smoke, and Lord Briarwood became a dark shadow. My brother's voice shouted indistinctly behind the smoke, and I heard the twang of a bowstring being released. Tearing through the smoke clouds came a hailing rain of arrows, like a thick sheet, that clattered viciously against the stones. 

Silas screamed and writhed, every arrow impacting with his body with a flash of warm sunlight energy that scorched him, and his skin, undead in it very nature, scorched and crumbled, small parts of his body flaking away into ashes. I slithered backwards, leaping back underneath the overhang, and Vax briefly appeared in my field of vision, his expertise allowing him to sheltered himself as I did.  
    

"Vex'ahlia," Vax shouted out into the empty air, looking up in the direction where the magical hail of arrows had come from. "What are you doing?!"   
      
Growling angrily Delilah pushed away from me on the right, vanishing into the smoke with a flourish of her skirt. I could hear her voice, slightly muffled in the smog, but still potent as she chanted demonically in the blackened foul speech of her spellcasting. Lord Briarwood drew his darkened blade from its sheath, already gathering dark energies to itself, and snarled with his fangs bared ready for a fight. Drawing himself to his full considerable hight, my master also plunged into the smoke on the left, melting away into a vague shadow I could hardly guess through the mist.   
      
"Percival you've got to stop this!" Vax'ildan shouted, his voice divided between fury and reproach, as he too disappeared into the smoke. "This is madness, this is that spirit of yours!"  
      
The smoke was already dissipating, and through the thinning screen I saw a huge form come hulking out of the darkness, the looming shadow of what could only be Grog. He came bounding across the top of the Ziggurat, reaching one of the pillars that supported the shade overhead, and he ducked behind it. On the other side I saw a tiny beacon of light, Pike's still glowing magical form, illuminating the top of the Ziggurat with a gentle yellow glow, and banishing the heavy shadows in her immediate vicinity. Even though she was extremely tiny, she was able to move with remarkable speed, and sprinted across the Ziggurat to Vax. He couldn't bring himself to strike her, and I could already see his face yielding to this gentle warm hearted vision. With a smile she reached up to touch his face, her tiny hands pressing against his skin, and he shuddered when she touched him.  
      
The sound of my brother's voice uttering a cry of pain instantly drew my attention in his direction. He was faced off against Silas, a little shaken and pale, startled by the chilling power of Silas's dark blade. The dreadful weapon had left a deep gash in his shoulder, that was slowly releasing blood into his jacket. 

Percy had his own blade out, a thin finessed rapier like the ones Mother had trained us with, and he made an effort to stand straight as he sliced across Lord Briarwood twice. Silas hardly reacted to these strikes, but unexpectedly Percy reached out his hand with its thick metal glove, and seized his enemy by the face. As soon as my brother touched Lord Briarwood's face, there was a burst of electric energy, that illuminated the darkness with a momentary livid flash, and a sharp crackle of energy. Percy's hand was smoking when he drew it away, all the energy stored in his glove expended, and Silas had an irritated burn mark shaped like my brother's hand scarred across his lower jaw and neck. With that Percy winked, and vanished behind the nearest pillar.  
      
Once again it was time for Traitor, and I sprinted after my brother and Grog. It was easy to find shelter in the shadows, and I danced around the back of the pillar, completely unnoticed in the chaos. Silas was already there, re-engaged with my brother, despite his attempts to escape from melee combat and rely on his guns. The hulking mountain of Grog, a vast expanse of magically imitated Percy, towered between me and my sibling. He was an impassable wall, and there was nothing to do but apply myself once again to harming him.   
   
This time I knew better where to strike him. Any attempt to aim at his back I knew would hardly affect him, and as the walking mountain raised his hammer to strike down at Silas, I brought my blade under his arm. I felt it strike at the softer skin under his rib cage, slipping over the tensed core muscles to find a weakness, and I dragged back as hard as I could, following the contours of the ribs back as far as I could before I met flexed hardened muscle.   
      
Grog roared, enraged, and before I could dance away again he turned and brought down his raised hammer. The full weight of the iron headed maul crushed me almost to the ground, spreading burning pain outward across my shoulder blades, and I felt the hammer's magical flames scorch my skin leaving it raw. Shaken as I was from the first blow, I had no way to dodge the second, and it crushed into my chest taking my breath away. I was pushed up against the wall, and when I regained my feet I stumbled. A stab of pain burned through my chest where one of my ribs had been cracked, my breath would only come in short gasps, and blood tickled the inside of my throat.  
      
Out of the shadows Keyleth appeared, sprinting along the top of the Ziggurat like Grog had, and she skidded to a stop several feet away swirling her hands together. The dance of her fingers was mesmerizing, and a tiny spark of light flickered between her hands. She blew on it hard, and it rapidly expanded into a beacon of sunlight, so bright it hurt to look at it directly. Then she brought her hands forward. A scorching beam of pure sunlight burst outward from her, sending a line of heat and fire through Lord Briarwood, Grog, and myself.   
      
My body moved faster than my mind did, and before I knew what I was doing I had dropped onto my stomach, and rolled out of the way, completely avoiding the heat. Grog and Silas weren't so lucky. The half giant let out a roar like an enraged bull, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes burned with maddened uncontrollable rage, but he took the brunt of the attack. Silas screamed like a tortured animal, chunks of his flesh crumbling into black ash under the sunlight, and he writhed at the sunbeam scorched him.  
      
"Silas!" Delilah had moved up to the other side of the pillar, leaning against it for support. She had a hand clutched over what was clearly a dagger wound in her stomach, and she looked lividly pale, the veins on the side of her neck and her wrists were black, as if the blood was poisoned.  
      
Lord Briarwood warned her off with a look, and returned to the offensive, striking at Percy. I could see him blanching in the sunlight, severely weakened and blinded by the light, but he pushed through the irritation and managed to land his blows. With both strikes Lord Briarwood's dreadful sword exuded its dark power, fresh shadows gathering around the blade at each hit.  
      
Gritting his teeth Percy flourished his rapier, flicking a cut upward across Silas's chest. This time Lord Briarwood didn't shake it off as carelessly, and I could see Silas bleeding from the strike. Concern washed through me as I realized how weak he actually was. His skin was no longer reforming itself, the multitude of burns and cuts were still fresh and irritated. Gathering my courage I ducked past Grog, slithering past a fresh strike he aimed at me, and I plunged into the fray, turning to face my brother.   
      
My brother. It made me ill just to look at him. Sick with anger and indecision. Thousands of memories bloomed in my mind as soon as I met his eyes, us playing in the garden with the others, reading together, throwing things at each other across the table, trying to trip each other up on the stairs. The bitter pain of it scorched me, remembering how we were then, and seeing how we were now. I hated him.  
      
But I couldn't hurt him. Desperately I tried, urging myself angrily to punish him for all the foolishness and strife that he had caused, to pay him back for abandoning me. Then I looked up at his face, and his anger contorted into a look of pity. I knew I couldn't strike him. Lord Briarwood's face darkened, pushing me to do it, the eyes that had held complete sway over me for so long were egging me on. But I couldn't bring myself to do it, now that I was faced with him. I couldn't touch a single hair on his head.   
    

With a harsh clatter I dropped Traitor, and shivered, standing mute and frozen. Percy's eyes stabbed me with accusations, but it was from my own heart that the accusations truly came. I couldn't protect anyone, not even myself. Truly, though I had been calling Percy the fool, it was I that had played the fool all along.  
      
As I backed away Keyleth leapt forward, her hands still glowing brightly with two beacons of sunlight, and she nimbly jumped onto Lord Briarwood's back. Like a child riding piggyback the slender woman tightly grappled Silas, wrapping her arms and legs around him. A fresh burst of energy exploded from her as she began to sing through gritted teeth "Let the sunshine in! Let the sunshine in..." Light coursed through Silas's form, and he stumbled, more of his skin flaking off in a shower of dust. Even now there was no blood, his form was simply crumbling apart, deep gouges of blackened ash beginning to form in his skin.   
      
Gathering his much greater strength, Lord Briarwood shook her off, flinging her away from him, and he whirled to bring down his sword on her. The blade sliced deep across her side, forcing a cry of pain from her. Black darkness thickened around the blade, chilling her form even as it struck her, and I could see Keyleth's blood being drawn into the sword, further strengthening it. Keyleth drew away gasping, one hand clutched over her bleeding side, and Silas laughed in her face, preparing to strike again. Even now, with his form blackened and burned, Lord Briarwood showed no sign of fear and still remained quite vigorous. There even seemed to be a fierce sense of pleasure in riding the razor edge of danger.  
      
"My love we're not ready," Delilah said desperately, the voice of reason in the midst of the battle, and she wound her arms around him from behind, drawing her husband to her. "The time table's been pushed. We have no choice." A flicker of black energy, like a gaping hole into nothingness, jaggedly opened behind them, and Delilah drew her husband back toward this gap.  
      
"Hua! Thats the sound of a gnome, fuckin' with your spell. Yea-Yeah!!!" Scanlan appeared around one of the pillars, one hand pressed to his heart while he sang at the top of his lungs. The bard blew a kiss toward Delilah, and the door behind her shuddered and collapsed. She snarled angrily, her eyes blazing with fury and desperation.   
      
Lord and Lady Briarwood met each other's eyes, instant understanding blooming between them in this moment of danger. Silas disengaging from his wife raced toward the stairs of the Ziggurat, covering the ground with frightening speed. Grog brought his hammer down toward Lady Briarwood, but only managed to hit her once, smashing her backwards.   
      
"Come on!" Scanlan said, planting his feet in the distance, and he raised one hand above his head, half singing, half screaming "BIGBY'S HAAAAAAAAAND!"   
      
Over his head, a giant purple fist created out of arcane energy, bigger than the gnome's entire body, formed out of the air. It mirrored the movements of the hand he had raised above his head, and balling a fist, the gnome punched out at Lady Briarwood. The giant purple hand mirrored his movement, clenching into a vast magical fist, and it went rocketing toward Lady Briarwood. Drawing herself up to full height, Delilah stood frozen as the fist passed through her harmlessly, the magical energy taking no effect. Purple arcane magic washed over Lady Briarwood and slammed into the pillar behind her, sending a shudder through the entire building, but Delilah herself was completely unharmed.  
      
In the distance Pike's warmly glowing form appeared out of the darkness, charging at Silas, and she struck at him with her mace, but a gunshot interrupted her before she could lash out again. Percy, eyes blazing, had drawn his pistol from the inside of his coat, and as his anger grew the billows of utterly black smoke around him continued to thicken. The shot pinged loudly against Silas's blade, and it was torn from his grasp, clattering against the green glass floor of the Ziggurat. A second shot hit Silas squarely in the middle of his chest, and as he doubled over clutching the wound, black ash poured through his fingers. Percy was warming to his work, completely absorbed by darkness, until he was a black outlined figure cloaked in shadow and formed out of darkness itself. 

Another shot plowed into the right side of Delilah Briarwood's face, enchanted flames scorching across her cheek, and she screamed clutching her ear. Dexterously my brother spun his pistol barrels and locked another one onto place, sending another bullet at Delilah. This one sank home into her stomach, and she gasped as shards of magical ice spread outward from the bullet, stabbing into her flesh. Two final shots, following so quick on each other that they were almost one sound, bit into Delilah's shoulder and thigh. Lady Briarwood wavered on the verge of falling, blood trickling at the corner of her mouth, from her nose, her ear, between her fingers clutched over her stomach, her shoulder, the wound in her leg, and she stumbled back against the pillar, leaning against it to maintain her balance.  
      
I snatched Traitor from the ground, but I had no intention of using it. I was at Delilah's side in a moment, supporting her with unwavering attention on my arm, and I pulled her into my shoulder until I was almost carrying her entire weight. She yielded to me, one arm weakly trailing over my shoulders, and I felt her breath against the side of my neck as she supported her head against my shoulder. Searching desperately I pulled out the healing potion that Percy had given me, and pulled the cork off, gently feeding it to Delilah. Recognizing the potion, she weakly gave in to my direction, and drank the potion. As it went to work I saw the bullet wound across her cheek close, and she supported her own weight once again.  
      
"Thank you my dear..." She said, giving me a warm smile. I glowed at the words, and if my loyalty had needed any kind of reaffirmation, these simple words gave it to me.   
      
"What's wrong Silas?" Keyleth's voice rudely broke in on the moment, and I suddenly became aware of our danger again. The half elf had stepped up toward Lord Briarwood, who was shrinking away from the sunlight that illuminated her hands, and as I glanced at him I realized with a thrill of fear how weakened he truly was. "Afraid of a little gnome and a druid?"  
      
Keyleth brought her hands together, and a final beam of sunlight burst from her. With a flash it bounced against Pike's shield, who brought it up to deflect the blow, and collided with Silas's body. One final scream of rage and pain was all he had time to utter, then the sunlight tore him to shreds, and my master's body crumbled into ashes, utterly destroyed.  
      
Delilah screamed. It was a truly horrible sound, a broken agonized wail. The first sound of real unrestrained emotion I had ever heard her utter, as if Silas truly had been the other half of her soul, and his death killed half of her with it. I felt nothing. 

Then I shuddered, nauseated as the world turned upside down.

I questioned everything. What had I been doing? What had I been thinking until now? Where had all my drive and willpower gone? What the fuck had they done to me? I looked down at the spineless puppet that had possessed me until two seconds ago, and felt sickened.

"Silas..." Lady Delilah crumpled to her knees, looking both vicious and desperate as she screamed at Percy, "You can't! I broke the world for us..." Then her face hardened, heartbreak vanishing into new resolve, and she gathered herself. "It's too soon..." She murmured almost to herself, as she got to her feet. "But it's our only chance..."   
      
Glancing over her shoulder at Scanlan in the distance, sporting his giant magical appendage, she took shelter from him behind the pillar. Once there, she brought her hands together, and the same doorway of vacuous shadow energy crackled behind her, and before anyone had time to counter her spell she stepped into the doorway and completely vanished. I was left alone on the top of the Ziggurat.  
      
"That was the lamest line ever!" Vex'ahlia called out, appearing out of the darkness overhead. The potion that she had taken seemed to still be in effect, for she came floating out of the shadows, and daintily came to rest on the top of the Ziggurat.  
      
"Sorry," Keyleth said sheepishly. "I'm not good with one-liners."  
      
"Vax!" Vex'ahlia exclaimed, hurriedly dashing to her brother's side. Until now I hadn't noticed him in all the chaos, but he was slumped on the stones of the Ziggurat, still breathing, but his eyes had no meaning as they stared at one fixed spot. With a sharp crack his twin slapped him, and though the strike had no effect, she grinned. "Now you know how it feels."

"Oh wait, are we slappin' Vax now?" Grog said, no longer so enraged he was unable to form coherent speech. "Lemme try."  
      
Several slaps later something like consciousness began to return to Vax'ildan's unmeaning gaze, and after a final strike he rolled out of his sister's lap to avoid another caress from Grog. He seemed a little bruised from all the slapping, but otherwise relatively unhurt. Percy meanwhile, walked to the doors of the Ziggurat, still closed and locked, and began to examine them carefully.   
      
Unable to slap Vax anymore, Grog straightened to his feet, casting about dully for something to occupy him, and his eyes suddenly fell on me. Before I could have had time to protest, the half giant had bounded across the top of the pyramid and seized me by the throat, dangling my body out over the sheer edge of the Ziggurat. Terror rose within me, as I glanced down at the blind darkness that gaped beneath me, and thought of all the empty air that stood between me and solid ground, but I made no resistance.   
      
"No! No!" Percy exclaimed sharply, abandoning his close inspection of the doors, and taking an involuntary step forward. "No, lets not."  
      
"Why not?" Grog said with hard skepticism, squinting at Percy. Vax'ildan suddenly disentangled himself from his sister, and crossed the Ziggurat to stand threateningly between Grog and my brother. The tension in the air was so thick, it was almost like a line of pressure drawn between my older brother and his friends. I squirmed, trying to breathe freely with Grog's hand around my throat, half clinging to his arm, half trying to escape from it.  
      
"Why not Percy?" Vax demanded harshly, sided with Grog against my brother.  
      
"She's been here a very long time." Percy said, his gentleness far more painful than Grog and Vax's resentment. Their annoyance was justified, while Percival's mercy was not, and it stabbed me to the core, until my heart was bleeding. I shuddered, going completely limp in Grog's fist. "Lets just knock her unconscious and let her be."  
      
Vax's response was swift. He whipped out one of his daggers, turning the blade away, and brought down the pommel. Blackness encroached on the edges of my vision, and I yielded, loosing consciousness.


	20. Who Is My Brother's Keeper?

"Cas..." It was my brother's voice, and I felt a hand gently shaking my shoulder. My head hurt, the inside of my skull throbbing, livid swirls of color dancing against the inside of my eyelids.

The smell of dry earth pushed through the fog of my senses, and I could feel rough grime pressed against my face. I was lying on my side, with my face pressed into the dirt, and when I tried to stir or raise myself I couldn't move my arms. They were pinioned behind my back, and my legs were tied together, so that any movement had to be accomplished like a worm, wriggling on my stomach.

Delilah, also tied with rope, was unconscious in the dirt a few feet away, bloodied, and missing one arm at the shoulder that had been crudely bandaged. I was back in the dirt tunnels that the Briarwood's had carved out, several of Percy's friends were holding torches, and Grog was holding the flaming head of his iron hammer as a light. My brother was kneeling over me, for I could feel his shadow looming over my body.

"Percy?" I whispered, his face coming into focus.

"You and I will have a discussion later." My brother said soberly, gently lifting me until I was leaned back against the dirt wall of the tunnel, and he leaned back on his heels. "In the meantime do you know what that thing in there is?"

"I don't--" My head continued to throb, and I tried to clear it, struggling to remember the clouded events of the last few hours. "What's going on? What happened?"

"You betrayed some bitches that's what you did." Grog said darkly.

_Oh, God..._

If Grog had chosen to drive a blade through my stomach, it could hardly have wounded me more deeply than his words. I flinched, shrinking as the full knowledge of my betrayal sank into me. Just as had happened so many times before, unwanted tears that I could neither contain or control rose to the surface against my will. I fervently wished that I was dead. Or so heartbroken I could no longer feel such pain.

"I'm sorry--" The words were useless. If Lord Briarwood's forgiveness had been earned, Percy's would be impossible to buy back. There was nothing I could ever say or do that would heal this breach. "Percy I--"

He slapped me.

The flat of his palm struck across my cheek, leaving my skin burning, and even though the strike was not forceful, it recalled me to myself. Like a sharp spice, the pain cleared my brain, and I felt myself regain some measure of self possession. I took a deep breath, settling myself firmly.

"I need my sister back." Percy said, reaching out to grasp me by the shoulders, and trying to catch my eye. "Are you awake? Are you a terrible person? Do I want to strangle you right now?"

"Probably..." I murmured with a humorless laugh. For a moment I tried to meet his eyes, but I couldn't hold his gaze, and I fixed my attention on the dirt.

"Good! Then we can work with this." Percy declared with morbid good cheer. "They were building something down here. The Briarwoods are no longer a problem, but they were building something. What do you know about it?"

"I don't know anything." I said, shaking my head, and I shrugged as best as I could through the ropes around my arms. "They wouldn't let me near it."

"Don't lie to us anymore!" Vex'ahlia burst out harshly, her face and whole stance accusatory, all the distrust my betrayal had created on full display.

"I'm not lying! Do I have a reason to lie right now?"

"You really seem to believe your words," Vax said, taking his sister's part. "But your word is worth fuck all right now.

I nodded, resigning myself to the distrust. "I know..." Wearily I leaned my head back against the earthen wall of the tunnel, closing my eyes. "All that I know, is that they've been building it under the guidance of some other person, or entity. They referred to Him many times as the Whispered One, but they were very secretive about it. The only reason I knew anything was because I'd overheard a few conversations, and questioned them about it. For which...there was punishment..." I shivered, remembering that miserable afternoon. "They mainly kept me to try and keep the people at bay." I finally continued. "My job was to keep in contact with those that would rise against them, and foil them. Prevent any surprises. Although thankfully I didn't do a very good job." I laughed bitterly, casting my eye over the assembled heroes around me.

Scanlan during the latter part of my explanation had been completely oblivious. Like some kind of faked up magician, he had dropped to one knee, and with a flourish pressed a finger into either side of his temples. Suddenly he came out of this theatrical meditation, and threw his arms out triumphantly

"Ah! The Whispered One! This draws a memory!" He said, wriggling his fingers in front of his forehead. "I don't know where I learned of this knowledge...I am very old...But at some point I remember reading, or hearing something about a Lich, who wanted to be a god. His name was Vecna, and they called him the Whispered One. Thats all I remember. He tried to achieve great power, and I don't know if he was successful or not."

"Oh boy..." Keyleth said gloom settling over her.

"Cassandra," Vex said, turning on me, "does any of that sound familiar?"

"Honestly, I didn't know anything beyond the name." I said regretfully. "I only knew that they were very close with this individual."

"When you betrayed us," Vex began, and I flinched as soon as she mentioned it, guilt, and burning poisonous shame coiling in my gut. "You said you were serving a higher purpose. Did they plan to sacrifice you to him?"

"There was a blood ritual involved, but didn't know more than that." I said shrinkingly. "There was to be a gift of power, should I give an element of my life to this ritual..."

A garish image of the Ziggurat's ritual chamber rose in my mind, and I shuddered, flinching away from the memory. It made me sick.

"I feel like I wasn't right in my head," I murmured. "I look back on so many decisions I made...and all the people that I've..."

 _Oh God_...I closed my eyes, trying to hold back fresh tears. _What have I done_...

"You've backed a loosing team, and that's not surprising, having been through what you have." Vax'ildan said gently, sitting down in front of me. His eyes when I met them were less steely and accusatory than they'd been before, and there was a flicker of understanding that the others lacked. Silas had charmed him too. "That's all gone now, Silas is gone." He pointed back down the tunnel in the direction of the Ziggurat. "Delilah is on deaths door."

He pointed at her, and I followed his gesture, looking down at the woman who had taken such disgusting advantage of me. She was awake. Still lying exactly as they had left her, with her eyes closed, cleverly feigning sleep, but underneath her dark lashes I caught the glitter of eyes.

"Whitestone needs to be tended to, and protected." Vax said, and the name of my city recalled my attention to his face. "Do you know anything that could help us save your birthright, here and now?"

"Well you've already done half the job." I said coldly, looking pointedly down at Delilah. Her eyes flickered up to my face as I spoke, and I shuddered as soon as I met her look, feeling a mingled sense of fear and loathing.

"You can't think of any reason they would want to sacrifice you in particular?" Keyleth asked, and I shook myself, breaking my eyes away from Delilah's .

"They spoke very little, intentionally I think, of what they wanted to do." I said, shaking my head. "To be honest, I think there was an element of it, that even they didn't know what they were doing. I was a tool, I was to be used, I had my purpose and I did my best to fulfill it."

"I've got a question." Grog said matter of factly. "D'you care if I smash the shit out of Lady Briarwood's 'ead now?"

I laughed at myself bitterly. Even now, after everything she'd done to me, my weakness still clung to her. As if she hadn't stripped me of everything I owned, my city, my friends, my family. Even myself...

"Someone needs to avenge my family." I stated, and finally, finally, I locked eyes with my brother.

Percy said nothing. He was withdrawn into himself, his eyes distant, as he sank into his thoughts. A swirl of dark smoke caught my eyes, and I looked down startled. Black vapor was beginning to coalesce around his gun and the hand that was holding it. I had never seen my brother's weapon so close, and with a start I realized that my name was carved on one of the barrels, just underneath another barrel with the inscription _Lady Delilah Briarwood_. My eyes darted back to my brothers face searchingly, but concern overrode my own questions. Percy's eyes had turned black, no iris, his eyes were two pools of inky darkness.

Moving so suddenly it made me jump, Percy rose, and crossed the tunnel to where Delilah was still lying limp and unmoving. Kneeling over her, placing his weapon against her forehead, he drew back the pistol's hammer with a loud click. I steeled myself for the gunshot, and the others started forward, as if to stop him.

"Wait, Percy," Scanlan exclaimed, "you're going to shoot an unarmed woman?"

"Unarmed?" Grog shot back indignantly. "She tried to kill us."

"You changed the deal." Percy said coldly, speaking out into the empty air. "Take her name off of the gun."

"Who's he talking to?" Grog asked, filling a long silence that fell after Percy had spoken, and he glanced doubtfully at the others.

"--Things have changed," my brother stated. Still not paying any heed to the rest of us, my brother suddenly pulled the gun away, gently easing the hammer back into its resting state. "We need to talk."

"Whoa," Vex'ahlia said. "Alright..."

"Who is he talking to?" Scanlan asked, with growing volume and urgency. Vax impatiently shushed the group, throwing out his arms to quiet his unsettled companions. Everyone fell silent, the tunnel going so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop.

"--Did I even want revenge before I talked to you?!?" Percy burst out savagely, speaking to the silence, and he grew restless, agitatedly casting about among his own inner thoughts. "Did I? I don't remember anymore. What does she die for? What do I even need? I want my country, I want my sister...I have killed two of those who have wronged me, and nothing is better, nothing feels better. Nothing is avenged."

With another sudden movement, he put the gun back to Delilah's head, once again drawing back the hammer, on the point of shooting her. Violently demanding, "what is this worth to you--"

 

"--Maybe I will--" Percy placed the gun against his own temple.

 

"Percy don't!" I exclaimed struggling against my bonds, but my brother waved me back, effectively silencing me.

 

"--That deal was a soft deal. It was a dream, it was a vision--"

 

"--I need more from you, if you want anything from me...I don't trust you anymore...Besides, the gun is broken anyway." Percy pulled the gun's trigger. But instead of a gunshot the weapon's barrel stuck in the middle of revolving, then settled back into its place, clearly not functioning, and he tossed it aside. "I'm not satisfied. I want my money back."

The smoke around my brother's body suddenly swelled, wreathing his entire body. Through the smoke Percy's hand twitched convulsively, then suddenly reached toward the much larger rifle slung over his back. On the point of touching it, he steeled himself, and wrenched his hand away, as if jerking his arm out of someone else's grip.

"Delilah," Percy said, his voice bitterly cold in its hatred, and he seized her by the hair, dragging her into a sitting position. She snarled through the gag as he touched her, and wrenched herself away from him, pressing back into the tunnel wall as my brother knelt in front of her.

"You are going to die tonight." Percy stated with chilling conviction. "Whether or not it is a merciful quick death, or a slow and agonizing one, controlled by something darker than I know, is entirely up to you. Now," he pointed back toward the Ziggurat, "what the fuck is that thing?"

Lady Briarwood laughed through the gag around her mouth. She was in complete disarray, her clothes torn, bloodied, and tear stained. But she laughed in his face, her eyes blazing. Whatever Percy's threats, it was clear she wouldn't answer him, not even to save herself.

"I know the pain you're feeling right now, I know the rage," Percy growled, "I know every moment of it, and I guarantee I can make it worse. Delilah don't make me hurt you." Suddenly he stepped back, shrinking away from Delilah, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, as if to keep himself in check. "Grog, be ready to restrain me."

"I'm ready." Grog said gleefully, brandishing his oversized iron maul, and standing next to my brother.

"Percival Fredrickstien--" Vex'ahlia stammered fearfully. For a moment she faltered, then shut her eyes, struggling to remember the rest of Percy's name. "--Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the third, you will fight this monster inside of you."

My brother glanced at the half elf woman for an instant, but it was difficult to tell if he had even registered or understood her words, then he looked back at Delilah. His face clouded with doubt, Scanlan conjured a miniature version of the giant purple hand he had created on top of the Ziggurat, and the magical appendage removed Lady Briarwood's gag. As soon as the cloth was pulled away, Vex knocked an arrow with one fluid motion. Keyleth at the same time flexed her hands, and both burst into flame, ready for conflict at a moment's notice. Lady Briarwood coolly observed the precautions, undisturbed by their implied threat, then looked back up at Percy, still crouching over her.

"You've already taken everything from me..." She asserted venomously, her eyes completely dead.

"I really haven't," Percy countered. "You still have your sanity, and your life. I will take your life tonight, but I can leave you your sanity."

These words, though spoken with my brother's characteristic coolness, were so unlike him, it startled me. I could accept anger, but my older brother, my Percy, wouldn't go so far as torture. I frowned, pricked by a familiar feeling. I didn't know him. I knew his voice, but his words weren't his, and it shook my faith in him. I doubted him.

"Interesting." Delilah mused, her voice tinged with cunning triumph as she measured her next words. "You seem to be struggling Percy..."

Percy's response to this stab from Lady Briarwood terrified me, underlining far more clearly than any of his words, the deadly change that had taken place in him. He screamed at her. The sound was unnaturally deep, magnified by a darker power behind his voice, and it shook the cavern.

As he roared, shaking the tunnel's foundations, his face shifted. It morphed, until where my brother's face had been, there was a perfect imitation of Silas Briarwood. Then Silas's face changed, twisting in agony, and as he silently screamed, his face shriveled, and boiled. Like a wax candle under a hot flame, his skin began to melt, until it was liquified, leaving nothing but the bleached skull, exposed and naked. And through this dreadful vision came Percy's scream, a visceral, hate filled roar, and as he uttered it, the dark smoke around his body almost smothered him.

"The pain you're feeling I've felt for years. Don't think I haven't imagined every way to hurt you. I could spend years hurting you before you die, in ways you cannot imagine." Percy snarled, his voice returning, and the vision dissolved into thin air. "Now, how do we destroy that thing?"

"I don't know..." Delilah admitted, momentarily yielding to the pressure. "I don't even know if it worked. We've been working to complete this ritual for five godforsaken years, just to repay a debt, and that's all. You forced us, it was too soon."

"Why? Why was it too soon?" Percy continued to press her. "What were you waiting for?"

"We were waiting for a particular date," she explained. "There's a time each year, during which the barriers between the realms grow very weak. You recall Errevon's attempt, generations ago, to blur between the realm of ice and this one? What they call the Winters Crest. Well, this is too early, and you saw our failure." She laughed bitterly, then shuddered, her reckless bravado vanishing. "He will not be happy I imagine. And I still owe Him for what He gave me, for what He gave us."

"What did he give you?" Vex'ahlia asked shrinkingly.

"He gave me Silas back..." Delilah replied, her voice drawn with voiceless pain. Then the weakness vanished, as she ground out, "And you took him from me again..."

Silence fell, as the group digested Lady Briarwood's words. Then she laughed again, once more secure in her emptiness. She could afford to jeer, for she had nothing to loose. They had already destroyed everything she valued.

"So do what you must do." She said mockingly. "I know I've paid my penance. And I know that no matter what steps you take now, it'll only drag you deeper into this dark hole you've drawn yourself. You'll hear me laughing."

"No, we really won't." Percy returned. "Knock her out again Grog."

"Oh...fine..." Grog unceremoniously punched Delilah across the jaw, and she went limp, two of her teeth scattering off into the darkness. Eagerly the half giant leapt after them, hoarding them like they were precious, and as he carefully tucked them into his bottomless magical bag, he glanced suspiciously at the others as if they were going to steel his gruesome treasure from him. Percy watched this strange display without a sign of surprise, and I suddenly wondered how many other 'artifacts' Grog was keeping in the bag.

"We should check her person for anything," Percy began.

But before he could finish Vex interrupted him. "I will gladly do that for you." Her eyes alight with the prospect of everything that could be taken from Delilah, and how valuable it might be.

"But wait a sec," Grog said suddenly, forgetting his teeth. "Are you sure you don't wanna smoke dis bitch?"

"I am." Percy declared with a shiver. "We should just throw her into the Acid Pits."

"Why don't you just...pow?"

"I don't feel like I should..." Percy protested, his voice trailing into silence as he looked down at Lady Briarwood's limp form.

"What's the plan here Percival," Vax'ildan prompted sternly. "What are we doing?"

A loud snap interrupted my brother before he could answer, and we all looked over at Scanlan who was holding the broken pistol in his hands. He had one finger inside the gun barrels, trying to squeeze a bullet out of the gun, and his efforts had snapped the six barrels away from the gun frame, breaking it completely. Guilt radiated from the gnome as he silently dropped both halves of the gun, kicking them off into the corner with his foot, and he began to whistle loudly, looking up at the ceiling.

"Scanlan," Percy said calmly. "Give me the other gun."

"Oh, it's on the floor right there..." The gnome said as he pointed at the broken pistol.

"The other gun." Percy pressed, nevertheless retrieving the broken gun as he spoke, and tucking it into his coat.

"You were talking to something out there! What was it?" Scanlan asked, taking refuge in a change of subject. "I was very scared, I'm a little man!!! Who were you talking to?!"

"I need another gun." My brother said tiredly.

"Are you going to kill me with it..."

"Maybe?!?"

"Percy, what are we doing here?" Vax intervened, pressing the issue more strongly as his question continued to go unanswered. "That woman deserves everything that is brought upon her, but what are we doing for Whitestone? What are we doing?!?"

"And more importantly," Keyleth added. "What was that just now? Who were you talking to?!"

"I don't know." Percy said soberly, almost steeling himself for the inevitable reproaches that would follow.

"WHAT!!!" Keyleth exploded.

"Things have gotten a bit weird."

"Percy, you cannot honestly tell us that you don't know anymore!"

"I don't know!" Percy said with desperate self defense, gesturing emptily.

"We just watched you have a full fledged conversation with yourself!" Keyleth said.

"Here's what I know." Scanlan put in. "Vecna is possibly, maybe, on the loose? Maybe coming back? We know that they started this ritual, and we don't know if killing her is going to end it, so I propose that we start leaving right now."

"Pike," Vex said, rounding on the gently glowing gnome, who all this time had been silently watching the events unfold. "Do you know anything at all about Vecna?"

"I mean, not much more than Scanlan." Pike said with a shrug, her gentle face drawn together into a look of concern, and she absentmindedly fiddled with the golden holy symbol around her neck. "He was just a very powerful arch Lich that tried to become a god, and was foiled in the attempt by heroes that are all long dead by now." She paused, trying to remember subtle details, and finally continued, relaying everything she could remember. "He's not a god, as far as I know, but his influence still exists, and those that do worship him call him the God of Secrets. Not much is known about him. Everything happened hundreds and hundreds of years ago, on another plane of existence entirely."

"And he created a vampire?" Vex said incredulously. "He made Silas a vampire?!"

"This is complex, and I don't trust myself to take Delilah's life," my brother reluctantly admitted. "I'm...in over my head..."

"Do you want someone to kill her for you?" Vex asked kindly.

"I don't think that would help."

"She almost killed Vex, she didn't kill Vax." Grog said, enumerating on his fingers. "We gotta fuckin' do somethin' with 'er."

"This _thing_ wants her dead, and all I can think to do is say No." Percy explained.

" _This thing?_ " Vax quoted him searchingly. "What thing?"

"The thing in my head!" Percy said, thumping the side of his head as he spoke, as if to clear water out of his ears.

"What thing is that Percival?"

"I don't know!" Percy said exasperated.

"Well start fucking talking Percy!" Vax said, his composure finally breaking. "Because we've all watched you talk to yourself for five straight minutes, and we're not going to deal with it for much longer!"

"I'm sorry Percy," Keyleth said apologetically, less harsh than her companion. "I'm with Vax here."

"I had a dream." Percy said burying his head in his hands and speaking through his fingers. "That was all..."

"You said just now 'you wanted your money back!' Was this a dream?" Keyleth asked, extremely skeptical. "Did you pay somebody!? And with what?"

"It was a dream, where _something_ offered me a means to revenge." Percy tiredly kneaded the corners of his eyes with two fingers. "It was a dream!"

"Well clearly it wasn't just a dream!" Keyleth said.

"I know that now."

"Percival..." Vax'ildan said reproachfully.

"This is as new to me as anyone." Percy lifted his head suddenly, once again becoming defensive.

"It feels like you are lying to us."

My brother's hand twitched, and suddenly darted toward the gun on his back.

"--NO!"

Percy screamed it at the top of his lungs, jerking his hand away from the rifle, and he captured it under his arm. As if it were an independent creature he had to keep restrained. The smoke around him suddenly drifted away, steaming off of him, and hovering independent of his body in the air behind him.

"You don't need to yell at us Percy, we're just trying to help you!" Scanlan said reproachfully, adding aside to the others. "I don't think he's rational."

Even as the gnome spoke, the dark mass of smoke swelled behind Percy. Now that it was free of him, the mass had its own shape, and it towered over him. The thing was almost human like, but the little that could be seen, through the smoke that wreathed it, had a gaunt fleshless frame unlike any human. It had a narrow chest, but still possessed a tough reedy strength, its shoulders though thin were knotted with wiry muscle. Everything about its proportions was elongated and exaggerated, almost eight feet tall so that it had to stoop in the low passage, and its fleshless arms reached almost to the floor, with long bony fingers that had needle-like sharp talons.

But its face was the most fearsome thing about it. Its head was smooth and hairless, with bony branching horns that swept back from its head, and instead of a face it had a featureless void in which its eyes burned purple, and a long sharp beak. As I looked up at it, Percy's leather bird mask was vividly recalled to my mind, and the resemblance between his birdlike mask and the creatures face was striking.

"Percival..." The creature growled, and its voice had a weird bone deep resonance to it that filled the mind with a slow moving frigid poison. "Do it..."

Vex'ahlia was so quick, I almost didn't have time to see it, as she whipped an arrow out of her quiver, drew back the string, and loosed her shot. The twang of a bowstring filled the tunnel, and the arrow leapt straight and sure into the center of the strange creature's dark mass. It impacted with a flash of golden light around the arrow's keen tip, and the creature flinched and growled.

Drawing itself up to its full and considerable hight, the beast regarded us carefully, taking note of everyone in the passage. The shadows around it deepened, shielding it like an armor, and I could almost feel its menace growing too, like another kind of shadow that hovered threatening over all of us. Following the line of Vex's arrow, my brother looked back over his shoulder, up at the fully revealed menace that still loomed over him, and he went pale.

With a dramatic flourish Scanlan planted his feet, lifted his arms above his head, and thrust out his pelvis. Once again a line of electricity blazed in the hallway, leaping across the air toward the creature. Stone cracked, and dust rained down as the bolt passed harmlessly through the creature, discharging its energy into the wall above my head. I screamed and ducked, reflexively straining against my bonds in a vain effort to cover my head, and dirt showered over me.

Coughing I spit out bits of dirt, shaking the hair out of my eyes. Percy lunged across the passage, shoving me back against the wall, and drawing his rapier began to saw through my rope. I struggled to help him, making myself smaller to give him some slack, then with a last surge Percy tore through the rope. Wildly I shook myself free of the last shreds of cord, struggling to rise, to help Percy.

"Get back." My brother commanded, pushing me away. I stumbled as he shoved me, and backed away. Empty handed and frantic, I was too desperate to do anything but obey him. He smiled, then tossed his rapier to me, and shouted "run!"

"Percival." The dark creature said poisonously, suddenly forgetting the others and fixing solely on my brother. It loomed over him, consuming him in its shadow, and held out one long bony clawed hand, half threatening, half enticing. "Don't make Orthax regret working with you..."

My brother shuddered, and closed his eyes, hardening himself to Orthax's words. Turning, Percy finally seized Bad News, slinging the rifle over his head and planting it against his cheek and shoulder in one well practiced motion. Orthax swelled, anger giving him greater strength, and crouching menacingly like a feral animal, the beast screamed.

It was a terrifying sound, piercing in its intensity, stabbing deep into the center of the brain. Half like a human in its last throws, half like some vast bird of pray that had been gorged on darkness until it grew to a huge deformity far greater than other birds, its shriek swiftly rose to its piercing point and above what the human ear could register. Like claws its cry raked through my mind, leaving my brain raw, and I screamed clutching my head as if it were about to burst. A sudden burst of violent rage seized me, jerking at me like a puppet being forced to dance against my will, and I almost struck out at my brother. Grog with a sudden roar heaved his hammer, and brought it down toward Scanlan, possessed by the same rage I had only just managed to resist.

"Ho! You gonna fail that attack, so you better sit yo ass on back," Scanlan sang, unexpectedly bursting into obnoxious harmony. "'Cause I ain't no Hollaback Gnome. I ain't no Hollaback Gnome!"

For a moment the half giant stumbled, caught off guard by Scanlan's ridiculous song, then roared and finished his attack. But the tiny gnome had enough time to react, and he simply stepped aside, letting the hammer fall into the dirt. Growling low and menacingly, Orthax suddenly pushed sideways, and putting his back against the tunnel wall, he melted into it, vanishing from sight completely.

I hesitated for a moment, not knowing what to do. Then in the absence of any ideas of my own, I followed my brother's, and ran as he had told me. The shadows swallowed me as I left the sphere of torchlight, and catlike I vanished into the darkness, silently flitting away up the tunnel. At the very least I was determined that Percy wouldn't have to worry about me.

Suddenly a chaos of noise erupted behind me, Grog roaring angrily, the singing twang of Vex'ahlia's bow, then Pike's gentle voice shouting something in a beautiful language I didn't understand, a flash of sunlight, and I heard Orthax scream in agony. Scanlan's voice, idiotically shouting, broke through these other sounds, magnified and strengthened by the strange magic he wielded.

"Don't you know smoking is the number one cause of cancer, and will shorten your lifespan by an estimated ten to twenty years! It's not cool, and you shouldn't do it."

But through and over all these sounds came the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot, and I had no attention for anything else. This sound was louder and deeper than the sound of Percy's pistol, thundering deafeningly over the tunnel. For a moment I glanced over my shoulder, and just had time to see Percy fire Bad News again. Smoke plumed out of the longer barrel, Percy had to steel himself against the gun's recoil to keep his balance, and Orthax stumbled as the much larger bullet tore a hole through the shadows that surrounded him and impacted his body.

"And another thing!" Scanlan continued to shout mockingly as I ran. "Your smoking encourages minors to smoke! It makes going to restaurants not pleasant, it makes your clothes stink, it's just horrible! So take that!"

"Fuck!" Percy's voice exploded, and I stumbled, turning back for a moment. "Delilah's getting away!"

It was true, her ropes were empty, lying in a tangled mass on the ground like a pile of wet noodles. She herself was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh. My. God. Seriously?!?" Vex called out, knocking another arrow and sending it toward Orthax, but her aim went wide of the mark and scattered off into the darkness.

"She went this way," Percy shouted, dashing up the tunnel after me, leading Vax'ildan behind him. "She's invisible."

Everything in the next few moments happened almost to quickly to see. Without bothering to hurry himself, Vax drew out a dagger, taking careful aim, and he tossed the blade. It sank square into the center of the empty air, and as the dagger hit, Delilah suddenly reappeared, visible once again. She had been lurking to one side of the tunnel, as Percy passed her, and now stumbled to her knees.

Before anyone could react, a roar from Orthax shook the tunnel, no longer an attack, but a sound of desperation. Grog flourishing his hammer, crushed Orthax to the ground, and Trinket leapt on top of him. Orthax snarled, then the bear sank its jaws into his head, and with one heave Trinket tore Orthax's head from his shoulders.

With a final screech of agony and fury, Orthax's body suddenly turned to shadow, that pooled on the ground. Then it raced up the hallway, reattaching to Percy's shadow, cast by the torch he held. My brother stumbled, and for a moment a cloud of doubts and fears rose thick to smother me, then he shook himself off, unharmed. Slowly, almost disbelievingly he laughed, and turned back from his mad dash up the passage.

Grimly Vax sheathed his knives. Walking up the passage, he seized Delilah by the back of her dress, and dragged her to the wall, where he roughly propped her up. She coughed weakly as she was lifted, struggling faintly, but she was already on the edge of expiring. I could see the meaning behind the term 'deathly pale,' her skin was almost transparent it was so white, drained and bloodless. She had been pushed to the edge of her strength, the remainder of her life hung on a thread. Having lifted Delilah, Vax turned to my brother.

"End this." The half elf said, planting a hand on Percy's shoulder and murmuring in his ear, then Vax stepped aside.

"Cassandra." Percy said, motioning me forward.

I flinched as he spoke to me, shy of his notice, the guilt of my betrayal still so raw, but mechanically I obeyed his gesture. He reached out, very methodical and gentle, taking my hand that still held the rapier he had lent me. Silently he lifted my arm, pressing my hand with his rapier into my chest, and his eyes met mine for a moment. Then he released me, and stepped aside, leaving the space between me and Lady Briarwood unblocked. I felt like a machine as I stepped forward, looking down at Delilah.

She chuckled weakly as I looked down at her, the laugh quickly devolving into a cough. But she was far too weak to properly mask her emotions anymore, and when I stood before her I saw pain. Looking at me gave her pain.

"You could have been my daughter." She whispered.

That was cruel...

"No." I whispered, denying her. "I am a de Rolo...You took them away from me, and now we're taking everything away from you."

I stabbed her, sinking Percy's blade deep into the center of her chest. She gasped, and coughed, wrestling for a moment with death. Then I heard the breath leave her body, and she went limp against the blade. She was dead. I bowed my head, choking on a mingled sense torturing pain and  crushing relief, that I struggled to hide. They were so closely entwined I couldn't distinguish one from the other, but at last unable to stop myself, I wept. Gently, so very gently, Percy touched my shoulder, softly pulling me away. With a jerk I yielded, drawing the blade from Delilah's body, and silently passing it back to my brother.

"Thank you..." I murmured, brushing away the tears, and forcing myself to meet and hold his eyes at last. He only smiled, and gave me a rough slap on the shoulder.

"We have a lot to do." He said.

"We do..." I agreed, bending down to drag Lady Briarwood.

"I meant to loot her earlier..." In the distance Vex'ahlia quavered hesitantly.

"Then hurry." I said, stepping back. "One thing I've learned here in Whitestone, is that things do not stay dead long."

I turned away as the twins inspected the body, it didn't feel right to watch. Vax reached Delilah first, and had whipped off her cloak before his protesting sister could reach him, inspecting it closely. She slapped him as soon as she jogged up to the body, but he still retained the cloak, apparently uninterested in anything else Delilah might carry. Finally even Vex was satisfied, and numbly I carried Delilah as my brother led us back up toward the acid pits. Gently slopping upwards before us the tunnel continued on and on, slowly climbing back to the surface. At last, turning the corner we came to the familiar branch in the tunnel, and I finally took the lead.

The acid pits were just the same as I had seen them before, several large vats in the ground, steaming acerbic fumes into the still tunnel air. Mechanically I dumped Lady Briarwood's body into the chemicals, resolutely getting it over with as quickly as I could, or I knew I wouldn't have the strength to do it. In the midst of the acid's sharp hissing, Delilah's body vanished beneath the surface, swallowed up never to return. Quietly everyone listened to the violent hissing, until at last the acid had done its work, and silence once again fell over the room.


	21. Under the Suntree

"Well..." Vex said, shattering the fragile quiet, and everyone shook themselves off, as if waking from a dream.

"What about you?" Keyleth said, her voice heavy with concern as she turned to Percy. "How do you feel?"

"How's that gun of yours?" Scanlan hinted.

At my shoulder, Percy looked thoughtfully down into the acid at his feet, and brought out the two broken pieces of his enchanted pistol, crudely wedging them back together. Raising his arm quite suddenly, he placed the gun against my forehead, on the verge of shooting me. The others started forward nervously, prepared to stop him, but I knew my brother. And his eyes were thoughtful, not aggressive. He meant me no ill will. For a moment everyone stood tense, waiting for Percy's next move.

"I think I'm alright." Percy sighed, dropping his arm, and the tension in the room relaxed slightly. A slow kindling smile flickered on my brother's face, widening to a cautious grin. "I think I may be alright!"

"Why don't you toss that thing into the acid, just in case." Scanlan said doubtfully, pointing at the gun. 

Without answering Percy went to the instrument laden tables on one side of the room. After searching through the scattered bottles and strange apparatus, he uncorked a small bottle that clearly contained more acidic compound. Taking great care, he slowly melted the surface of the pistol's barrel, until my name was no longer visible there. Then he paused to examine his work, and tucked the gun back into his coat.

"I think it's fine." 

"You think it's fine?" Scanlan returned, extremely dubious.

"We've got to have some faith." Percy said with a tiny hint of a smile.

"I don't have any faith." The gnome said, then he suddenly brightened. "Here we'll make a deal: I'll let you keep that gun, if you give me Ripley's"

"No." Percy said sternly, becoming serious once again.

"I am so, so, glad that your smoke monster is seemingly gone Percy, thats wonderful news..." Vex said hesitantly. "But we should figure out what to do."

"Well we should probably go talk to Keeper Yennin," Percy said. "Gather the rest of the rebels together."

"Oh, wait, the revolution." Keyleth exclaimed with a start, growing agitated.

"You forgot about that?" Percy asked with a teasing grin.

"Yeah, we should go stop the fighting..." Keyleth said, nervously playing with her hair again. "Let them know its over..."

"So if they're still fightin'," Grog suddenly put in dully, trying to keep track of it all on his fingers as he worked it out in his head. "Doesn't that mean its not over?"

"Well I'm sure they don't know that the Briarwoods are dead." Keyleth tried to explain.

"Perhaps," my brother put in, seeing that Grog still looked confused, "if we tell everyone that they're dead..."

"Oh...yeah..." Grog said, evidently giving up trying to solve the problem, and just nodding like he understood. Then he suddenly brightened as a new pearl of wisdom broke upon him, and he eagerly voiced the new thought that had suddenly illuminated him. "Maybe we'll see Ripley on the way out!" 

"Wouldn't that be nice..." Percy said darkly, the old menace resurfacing for an instant, then the moment was passed, and he was cheerful once again.

"I just had a thought Percy." Scanlan piped up, tugging on my brother's coat sleeve. 

As Percy turned to look down at him, I saw Scanlan's fingers swirl behind his back. Percy saw it too, but as his face darkened, Scanlan brought his hand out and blew through his fingers, as if he were blowing my brother a kiss. My brother's shoulders relaxed, his eyes blurring for an instant, and when his eyes cleared, he looked down at Scanlan questioningly as if nothing had happened. 

"I think I know how to fix your gun." The gnome declared brightly, holding out his hand expectantly. "If you'd just hand it over to me." 

For a long moment Percy regarded Scanlan searchingly. But the tiny figure met his piercing gaze fearlessly, still holding out his hand, and smiling brightly. Then, Scanlan winked. At last Percy reached into his coat, and slowly passed Scanlan the broken gun.

"Thank you Percy," Scanlan said. The gun looked ridiculously oversized in the gnome's much smaller grip, and he held it thoughtfully. "I think in due time you will thank me for this..." And with that, the gnome hoisted the gun in both his hands, and tossed it into the acid. With a loud hiss it sank into the violent liquid, disappearing beneath the surface. 

"When the charm fades, he's gonna be super pissed," Scanlan said to the others. "Somebody protect me." 

Grog grabbed his much smaller friend by the shirt, and lifted the gnome to his shoulders, out of Percy's immediate reach. Even as Scanlan spoke of a charm, I saw my brother's eyes suddenly clarify as if he had been half asleep. 

"That was so expensive!" He yelped, leaping forward to try and fish his creation out of the acid. "That was so expensive!"

Keyleth's hand shot out, as if she were catching something invisible in the air before her, and as her hand closed, Percy came to an unnatural standstill. He froze on the edge of the pool, straining to escape from the paralysis, and whimpered as the gun continued to hiss beneath the surface. The others relaxed as the danger of Percy trying to rescue his weapon passed, and Scanlan sighed, saying "thank you Keyleth." She smiled brightly, flattered by the gnome's praise, and continued to keep her hand clenched, holding Percy captive.

"Percy, dear, you'll thank us for it later, I know it." Vex said plaintively, taking my brother's face between her hands.

"He's paying for a new one." Percy growled threateningly.

"I'm so sorry." Vex kissed him on the cheek. 

"He's paying for a new one."

Before anything more could be said, the acid suddenly boiled, bubbles streamed to the surface, and the hissing grew frenzied. Then a larger bubble burst through the muck, and a puff of black smoke burst the surface, hovering for a moment, before it dissolved into nothingness. Percy released an involuntary gasp as the shadow melted away, going limp against Keyleth's spell for a moment. 

"Oh just throw the flying carpet in there now, why don't you!" Percy exclaimed unhappily as silence finally fell, the gun completely consumed.

"Percival!" Keyleth said reproachfully. "That hurts."

Still looking regretfully into the acid, Percy groaned, and I hesitantly stepped in front of him.

"Brother," I prompted, taking his face in my hands like Vex had done, forcing him to look at me. "We've all made sacrifices for this..."

I slapped him.

"You were never Mother's favorite!" Percy retorted hotly.

"Oh, lets not be petty..." Scanlan said.

"She told me!"

I only grinned wickedly, and pinched his cheek. Keyleth at last relaxed her hand, releasing Percy from the spell. He stumbled forward into me, unexpectedly able to move again, and gripped my arms to keep from loosing his balance. Clumsily I supported him, drawing him back to his feet.

"Brother, lets go to our people." I murmured. Even though it felt intensely awkward, I didn't want to let go of his hands, and continued to hold onto him. "Lets tell them, that for the first time in five years, Whitestone is free." 

Gently I began to draw him back toward the castle, but he resisted me. He was still gazing longingly into the acid where his gun had disappeared, and despairing of ever getting him to follow willingly, I roughly put his arm in mine and dragged him up the tunnel. After pulling him along for a few steps, he unwillingly relented, and turned away.

"That one was enchanted..." He mourned under his breath. "Two enchantments just....oh God...I am gonna kill you Scanlan..." Then he fell silent, leaving the rest of his unhappy mutterings unuttered. 

Arm in arm we walked up the tunnel, retracing our steps through the empty tombs, the cellar, and finally emerging into the castle's dimly lit hallways. I had no idea where we were going, but Percy finally took the lead. The castle was utterly silent, as still as a graveyard, and the entrance hall when we reached it was completely deserted. Percy quietly pulled me through the castle's double doors, across the courtyard, and shoved his way through the heavy gate, stepping out onto the muddy road that snaked its way up to the castle. 

The shadows of early evening were beginning to fall, a blaze of reds and gold illuminating the sky to the west over the mountain tops, where the sun was sinking toward the horizon. It was a cold day, sharp but refreshing in its chill. Over the trees of the valley was a dead stillness, no wind, no airs to disturb the silence. As if the entire valley waited for some stroke. 

But we were no longer alone. Trudging doggedly up the road, weary, bloodied, and battered, was a clustered group of haphazardly armed soldiers. The remaining forces of the rebellion that my brother and his companions had sparked. Scattered along the road behind them were bodies, some human, some less so, but these fighters at least seemed to have pushed through all resistance. In their weary determination I could read the bravery of men who had little hope of victory, but went to their death anyway, resolved that if they were to die, they would die such a death as deserved remembrance. 

At their head I could see the unmistakable figure of Keeper Yennin himself, as weary as his men, but still the indomitable leader. As he drew close, he saw my brother, and held out his arms, bringing his men to a halt with their weapons drawn. On either side of my brother, his friends filled in the empty space, standing in support of him, also at the ready. Yennin stepped out from the rest of his men, a lonely figure between the two groups, and Percy also took a step forward, disengaging himself from my arm.

"You there," the Keeper called out doubtfully. "Percival, Vox Machina, are your wits about you?"

"You know it." Vex said, with a wink, and a tired salute.

"The Briarwoods are dead." Percy called out, speaking not to Yennin, but the men as a whole, his voice just loud enough to be heard by all, but not shouting. A ripple of murmurs ran among the men, then silence again fell.

"The serpent's head is cut off," Vax'ildan said, "but there is still much to do." 

Stepping out from her companions, Keyleth lifted her arms to the sky. The heavy clouds overhead swirled and darkened, thickening until a clear outline could be seen, and a giant token of Pelor became visible in the clouds. A few ragged cheers rose from the men as they looked up at the symbol in the sky.

"Are you certain this is done?" Yennin asked urgently, crossing the empty space between himself and Percy.

"There are still remnants of their evil beneath the castle," Percy said soberly. "But the Briarwoods are no more." 

A slowly kindling grin dawned on the upright old man's face, wrinkles deepening across his face as he smiled, and slowly he turned back to his men. All attention instantly fastened upon the old priest, as all listened with bated breath to hear what he would say. Looking at the assembled soldiers, Yennin suddenly laughed, and threw down his shield.

"Well you heard the man," He shouted. "The Briarwoods are dead, Whitestone is free...The de Rolos are in power once again!"

Deafening cheers rose from the weary men. Smiles of relief broke out on every face, men tossed their helmets into the air and caught them, or threw aside their weapons and embraced, the whole militia was broken up in tumult as men rejoiced, and strangers congratulated each other as if they were brothers. Keyleth and Vex both joined in, Grog bellowed triumphantly, and I couldn't help but laugh. A chill of years had long since crept into me, and the joy of the men heartened me. Below us in the valley lights began to kindle, tiny yellow stars placed in windows, or carried through the street, as news of the victory was borne through the city.

"I don't know what to say!" Yennin laughed, clapping Percy's shoulders. "Come, there is much to discuss, let us leave this foul place for the time being. Men, seal the doors to the castle, don't allow any intruders."

"We really need to rest." Keyleth said, as men rushed to obey the Keeper's orders.

"Then come." Yennin said, gesturing toward the slowly awakening city below. "You've certainly earned it!"

After thinking for a moment, looking up at the thick clouds overhead, she shook her head and turned to my brother.

"I'll catch up with you guys," She said. "I think these people need to see the sun..." 

Stepping back, Keyleth vanished into a swirl of wind. Leaves and bits of grass were caught up in the swirl, and for a moment I could almost make out a faint human shape, formed out of air itself. Then with a rush, the swirl of independent whirlwind leapt up into the sky. Overhead the clouds began to slowly push apart, as Keyleth's strange wind form began to beat a path through them to the sky above. 

After watching for a moment, Percy reached out and took my arm again, leading the way down toward Whitestone. Everyone obediently fell behind him, and the two of us took the front, the natural leaders for the moment. What had been a weary march toward certain death, was now a returning parade bearing tidings of victory, and the men still cheered or embraced as they went, breaking out into strings of discordant song. 

Small clusters of peasants from Whitestone ventured forth to meet us, a small number of women or elderly who lived close to the city gate, and left the walls to reunite with their loved ones. A few found their dear ones, others were not so lucky, for there had still been a heavy battle to defeat all the Briarwood's other undead forces, and some had not returned. More joined us as the men pushed into the city, swelling our ranks until the ragged group of men had become a large procession. And at the forefront of the entire parade, was my brother and I, with Yennin and Percy's other friends close on either side. 

Suddenly Scanlan broke away from the group, and with a slick grin and a swagger in his step, walked up to a woman who had just emerged from her house to watch the procession as it went by. She was a very beautiful woman, with rich brown hair, dark black eyes, slender neck, and very fine features. As Scanlan stepped up to her waist, for he hardly stood much higher, his face grew sympathetic and he bowed gracefully, one hand on his heart.

"Your husband..." Scanlan began, reaching out to take the woman's hand, and she became very pale, hanging on his words.

"Pike is right here Scanlan." Vex'ahlia said, crossing her arms disapprovingly, and raising one slender eyebrow with blistering sarcasm.

"Oh, um," Scanlan stammered, jumping at the sound of Pike's name, glancing at his fellow gnome in a fluster, and finishing his speech in a hurried rush of words. "Your husband died for a great cause, thanks, bye." 

As the bard practically ran back to the rest of his friends, one of the men detached himself from the rest, and also approached the woman. Her face lit up a soon as she saw him, and he kissed her on the cheek, wrapping his arm around her waist. She laughed then blankly asked, "who was that man?" Her husband only shrugged. Scanlan upon rejoining his companions, was roughly thrust back into place by Vex, who made sure to smack him over the head first.

"So we've sealed the castle right, we don't have to worry about that for now..." The gnome reasoned, apparently focused on business once again. "But Ripley got away, and also there's a Goliath on the loose."

"Not anymore there isn't." Yennin said, with dark satisfaction. "Follow me."

"Do we have any young boys around?" Scanlan inquired brightly.

"I'm sorry--" The Keeper stammered, utterly baffled by his strange question. "What?"

"I just need a fleet footed boy," Scanlan said, "to fetch me a beret."

"See the last time I was lookin' for a boy, everybody gave me shit too." Grog said, his voice indignant and injured.

"Oh we're going to give him shit," Percy said smugly. "Don't worry Grog, there isn't a problem here."

"All of you," Vax'ildan said, imitating Scanlan, and throwing out his arms commandingly. "Bring me your smallest, most helpless child!"

Before this conversation could spiral any farther, the press of people around us suddenly thinned, as the procession emerged into the central square, and the ranks of men began to fill the edges of the square. Stepping out from the others, and taking a position under the withered corpse of the Suntree, Yennin turned and raised his arms. Immediately silence fell, and the tension grew sharp as all waited to hear what the Keeper had to say.

"For generations, it was those of the Zenith that watched over this tree, and these people here. It was by the Evil that once held foot in this town, that Father Rynoll, last keeper of the tree, was slain." Yennin said solemnly, looking up at the sagging and wearied branches that canopied over his head. "We will work to find those who wish to take up his mantle, to clean and rebuild the Zenith, but until that time I, Yennin, swear to make this tree's safety my responsibility..." 

Nods of approval passed between the men. Keeper Yennin and Father Rynoll had both been religious men, and though they had carried different faiths, and given their allegiance to different gods, that the one should help to preserve and nurture the other seemed only right. The matter was settled, but Yennin, by long history, was not one to make short speeches, or reach his point quickly. He still had more to say.

"Let us all take a moment to thank the heroes that made this freedom possible." He said, holding out his hand to the clustered group of ragged adventurers that had befriended my brother, and one by one calling them forward. "To the strong and brave Grog, the gentle soul Pike, the swift of bow Vex'ahlia, and her cunning brother Vax'ildan. To the clever wit and...strange humor...of Scanlan, and, to the keeper of the earth Keyleth." 

Cheers rose from the men, and clapping broke out. Instead of taking satisfaction in this reverence, most of Percy's companions seemed extremely embarrassed by it, and looked rather shamefaced. Scanlan characteristically, and quite predictably, was not embarrassed in the least, and bowed with a flourish. 

"And of course," Yennin continued after a moment, stepping down from his place, and dragging both Percy and I up to the tree by main force. "To the ancient blood, and the sacrifices made by those we once thought lost. Now returned and raised up, to restore the glory of this people, Percival and Cassandra de Rolo." More rejoicing broke out, and over the cheers Yennin shouted. "May we all raise up our weapons! To Vox Machina!"

Clamoring shouts of "Vox Machina!" "De Rolo!" "Whitestone!" and other similar cheers broke out. Hats were thrown in the air, and the people surged forward, wildly shaking hands with each other, and all eager to thank their saviors. Before we could be smothered, Yennin once again shouted, holding up his hands to calm the people. The crowd parted, and through the middle came several armed men, dragging between them the half giant Vedmire, and a vicious looking half orc woman I had once seen at the castle under the Briarwood's rule. As they were pulled forward, hostile silence fell, and the people looked on stonily.

"The two remaining New Nobles, given power here, as they aided the Briarwoods in taking this city." Yennin said, looking down on the prisoners, and they were both forced to their knees before him. "We have 'Duke' Gorron Vedmire, and 'countess' Jazzna Griben."

Many scoffed at the titles, and palpable animosity filled the air. These two were clearly hated, and not one sympathetic face could be seen among the assembled ranks of Whitestone's people.

"You have been found guilty," the Keeper said sternly. "Of treason against this city, responsible for many innocent lives lost, and for furthering the plans of the Evil that has oppressed us so long." A growl of discontent rose from the men, assenting to his accusations, and the Keeper turned to Percy and the rest of us. "I would wish that you, the ones who freed us, deliver the judgment." 

The faces of my brother's friends fell at the prospect, but Grog looked suddenly excited.

"No that sounds fair." The half giant said majestically, countering his companions lack of enthusiasm. Tilting his chin up in what was meant to be a Kingly pose, he continued, becoming by degrees more lost and befuddled amidst all the long words and legal phrasing he either didn't know, or didn't comprehend. "I've known to preside over many um...legal...matters in my time as...uhhh...Judgeface...of...Northwind..."

"Oh boy..." Scanlan said wearily, rolling his eyes.

"Define legal." Vax'ildan demanded.

"Define Judgeface." Keyleth challenged.

"No, no..." Grog said, holding up his hand. "It would just overwhelm all of you, it's all right."

"Grog, if I may," Scanlan said. "I can assist you in this if you like."

"Why of course, um..." And Grog floundered, once again getting into difficult terrain. "Subjudge.... Scanlan." 

"Thank you Grog." Scanlan said dryly, turning to my brother next. "Percival this is your city, so if you want to."

"I leave it to you." Percy said with a hint of a grin, almost as if he was enjoying watching Grog struggle, and was curious to know what he would do. Crossing his arms, he waited for Grog and Scanlan muddle their way through the judgement, 

"Well these two have done much violence to this place," Scanlan said, turning to look at the two prisoners, and adapting to the role of judge with much better grace than his large companion. "They represent all that is evil." 

"Wait." Vedmire said, his eyes narrowing, as a dull intelligence not much sharper than Grog's endeavored to process some important thought. "I know you..."

"Never seen you before friend." Scanlan said, shaking his head, and adding with a wicked grin. "You have a lovely house by the way, or, had one. Might need a new roofer." He winked, and Vedmire subsided. 

"Anyway," Scanlan said, giving himself a shake. "To show grace, and demonstrate the new hope for this place, I suggest that we don't kill these two."

"What?" Grog interrupted, genuinely disappointed. 

"But rather, force them to help rebuild the place that they helped to destroy."

"In chains--" Vex began to insist.

"Yes, chains." Scanlan acceded 

"Very heavy chains..." Vex gloated, shaking her head.

"Vedmire at least is extremely strong," Scanlan said. "And she must have some sort of skill..."

"Come closer," the half orc Jazzna snarled, her yellowed teeth bared. "I've never tasted gnome before."

"Well, maybe we'll kill her." Scanlan said doubtfully. 

"What kind of weapons did these two have on them?" Grog asked the Keeper.

"Not entirely certain," Yennin replied. "However she's been known to carry a quiver or two, and this one wields a blade as long as his body."

"The Briarwoods are gone." Vax said, stepping forward to address Jazzna and Vedmire. "You can either die today, or you can take your licks and help to rebuild this city. No one is going to protect you or save you, but you can work hard, and start again."

"I accept." Vedmire said dully after a long expectant silence, and he turned to his female companion. "Jazzna?"

"It seems you lack what has kept me alive all these years: a spine." She growled. "Kill me, I'd rather not stay at your beck and call." 

"Alright." And before anyone could stop him, Grog had swept out his ax, and lopped off the half orc's head. She collapsed backward with a wet thud, black blood staining the cobble stones of the town square, and cheers rose up from the men. 

"Good people," Percy shouted, as Jazzna's head and body were both cleared away, and I swelled with pride to hear how well he spoke. "While we always must dispense our justice, this is now a town of mercy as well. I will expect nothing less from all of us, than to give what we have not had for so long."

"Let her's be the last blood shed." Scanlan agreed. The men slowly nodded, becoming more sober as the bloodthirsty cheers subsided.

"Duke," Percy said to Vedmire. "Earn your life again." 

Roughly he was pulled away by the guards that had brought him, and as he was dragged off the festive air began to return. Slowly the crowd broke up, but the celebrations were far from over. Bonfires were lit in the streets, candles burned in the windows of houses, and tables were hauled out. Men took off their armor, Mothers brought out whatever evening meal they had been preparing, children that had been sheltered inside were allowed to play in the streets, filling the once deathly roads with laughter.

But better than that, overhead Keyleth's efforts had yielded a brief gleam of sunlight before the sun went down, and the Suntree was bathed in gold. Then the sun finally sank beneath the Alabaster Sierras in a blaze of gold fading to rich purple, and blue dusk fell. Warm firelight filled the streets, and a somewhere a fiddle was tuned up. Families and friends ate in the street, some sitting at tables, while others unable to secure a place, simply picnicked on the cobble stones in little groups and encampments. 

Under the Suntree a long table was placed, laden with food until it groaned, and there Yennin and the rest of us ate. Around us the gaiety swirled, Scanlan was full of colorful stories, most of which were probably untrue, Grog drank so much I thought he was going to explode and still bellowed for more, Yennin himself drank a little and smiled more than I'd ever seen him do. Archibald, though by this time an extremely old man, hauled his old bones out as he said 'for a bit of talk and a smile.' Percy treated him like an uncle, giving him the best place at the table, and though he was very crotchety, we had both known him since we were children and could tell he enjoyed himself.

I myself had little to say amidst all the merry making. A long time ago I would have been a centerpiece, dancing with anyone who would take me, and singing the rest of the time. But I wasn't that girl anymore, and my happiness was of a quieter sort. I was still wounded, scarred by many blades, twisted by many poisonous words...and I was still a traitor...But for the moment my people were safe. My brother was alive, and that was all that mattered.


	22. Epilogue: The Traitor's Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A final bonus chapter, that isn't canon. But I like to imagine that one the private conversations we know Cas and Percy had, went something like this.

I knew this day had to come. I had been dreading it: the confession, the revelation. 

Percy was very gentle. Quietly he admitted me into the room, stepping aside and holding the door open for me. Nervously I brushed passed him, and settled into a chair, while he closed the dining room door behind me. The room was frigid, and I couldn't stop shivering, chilled by a cold sweat. 

It was a very austere room, blank and featureless without the laughter and chatter of humanity to give it life. Neither my brother nor myself were those same chatty people anymore, and we both were as unequal to the task of lighting up the room. Silence settled thick over the long featureless dining table, staring in condemnation from the empty chairs. Percy gripped my shoulders, kneading the tension out of me, and I relaxed as he touched me.  
     
"Are you ready for this?"  
     
"No." I admitted with a hopeless laugh.  
     
"I am so sorry Cas..."  
     
"So am I."  
     
The sound of voices in the foyer broke the silence, and I stiffened as I heard them, all the tension that Percy had banished immediately returning. Roughly he patted my shoulders, then left my side and went to the door.  
     
"Gentlemen, if you could sit for a moment, there's something important I feel should be discussed as soon as possible." Percy said, speaking into the entrance hall, and he once again held the door open. Archibald and Yennin, attended by one of the Whitestone soldiers who were acting as the castle guards for the moment, stepped into the room. Quietly my brother dismissed the guard, and he left with a respectful bow, leaving the four of us alone.  
     
"Please sit." Percy gestured to nearby chairs, and the old men both chose places at the table.  
     
"Cassandra." Archibald said, ceremoniously bowing to me as he took his place. I smiled stiffly, and gripped the edge of the table.  
     
"You've seen the structure then?" Percy asked, as he shut and locked the door.     
     
"Very strange piece of architecture." Yennin said thoughtfully, running his fingers over his neatly trimmed mustache. "The Ritual magic involved is unlike anything I've ever seen, very difficult to fathom to be honest. But it's obviously a very old piece of stonework, and if I had to guess, I would say it originally had some other purpose than what the Briarwoods intended to use it for."  
     
"I see." Percy said darkly, speaking almost to himself. "So here is yet another thing they've twisted and defiled."  
     
"I've been hoping for a chance to speak with you as well." Archibald said to my brother. "The fate of Whitestone, and more importantly who is taking a position of leadership over the city, has yet to be decided. Great steps have already been taken, and once again I cannot thank you or your companions enough for all the aid you have lent us. The Rebellion would have been near impossible without you. But even though steps have been taken, that still leaves us with the greater problem of leadership. After all the atrocities committed under the Briarwood's tyranny, we have a long steep slope to climb, if this city is to get back on its feet. It will take many hours of hard work and careful forethought, and while I'm sure all of us are glad to lend a hand, you will be hard pressed I think, to find anyone of the community leaders who would be willing to accept more than their present responsibility."  
     
If Archibald had been expecting an immediate acceptance of leadership from Percy, as the rightful ruler and last of the de Rolo bloodline, he was disappointed. Percy only nodded, slowly circling around the table, like a brooding shark biding its time. I had nothing to say, when I considered the burden that ruling would saddle me with, I shrank away from the prospect. Self doubt, and accusations both presented me as the person least fit to rule, the youngest of the bloodline, the least experienced, and a traitor. Given my treasonous deeds, I would rather sweep mud on the street, than accept a position of trust again.  
     
"But you said there was something you wished to discuss with us?" Archibald hinted, after an uncomfortable silence, seeing that Percy was lost in thought.  
     
"Cassandra..." My brother prompted gently, his voice unbearably kind. "If you could explain..."  
     
I opened my mouth, but couldn't force myself to speak, and a shudder passed through me. Dizziness washed over my body, making me cling to the edge of the table for support, suddenly sickened. It felt like I was about to throw up. Percy stayed his pacing, gripping my shoulders from behind, and I shrank under his touch.  
     
"Please..." I sobbed, blindly pleading for mercy. "Please don't make me."  
     
Still gripping me tightly, Percy shouldered my burden, "She betrayed us to the Briarwoods Archibald." His voice utterly devoid of emotion.  
     
"What do you mean?" Archibald faltered, frowning deeply.  
     
"She has told me the whole story. Lord Briarwood charmed her, she betrayed you."  
     
"I don't understand."  
     
"She fed information to the Briarwoods."  
     
Shaking his head, Archibald's frown deepened. "We never would have gotten as far as we did without her! She singlehandedly guided the whole Second Rebellion. Everything I knew about the castle I learned from her, the Ziggurat, Lord Briarwood's undead nature, the secret tunnel into the castle. She told us everything!"  
     
I hated his confusion. It lacerated me to the core, until my heart was bleeding, and I choked on tears. So much faith had been placed in me, the object of blind devotion, and I had betrayed it all. Lord Briarwood been right. I was a liar.  
     
"Silas charmed her in the first rebellion. When they attacked the secret tunnel on the west side of the castle, he was waiting with an ambush, and he possessed her during the battle," Percy explained. "She wasn't taken prisoner by Lord and Lady Briarwood as you were told, they adopted her, and kept her alive as a pet. The first letter you received was in Cassandra's hand only, everything it said, everything it promised, everything it revealed, was written under the direction of Delilah herself. Every letter you ever sent to Cassandra was read by Lady Briarwood, used to monitor everything you said or did. I can assure you that everything you ever planned was intimately known, and even shaped, by the Briarwoods themselves. Cassandra told you to wait until nightfall for the Second Rebellion to begin, but it wasn't so you could have the cover of darkness, it was because Lord Briarwood's vampire spawn could only move about freely at night, because Lady Briarwood's rituals would take an entire day to complete. The Second Rebellion was meant to fail...When you wrote to Cas, and told her that my friends and I were sparking the third rebellion, I have not doubt the Briarwood's knew everything within the hour. They knew everything we were planning. They were the ones that ambushed us in Tyleeri and Vedmire's homes, and released their undead hoards on the city."  
     
Archibald listened to all this silently, his face slowly falling. Everything Percy had recounted had been spoken blandly, his voice cold and unbending. Yennin had grown very grave, gripping his holy symbol in one hand. And remorse had crushed me, until I could hardly think, and the only thing that bore me up was Percy's gip on my shoulders holding me together.  
     
"When we rescued her from Professor Anders," Percy continued heavily, "she led us down into the tunnels. But when we reached the acid distillery, she triggered a trap that caught us inside the acid room. She confessed to me that she had been adopted by the Briarwoods, and left with them--"  
     
My brother's voice finally failed, silence fell, and he convulsively squeezed my shoulders. The iron grip revealing much more potently than his words, how much my betrayal had wounded him. I wept again, but these tears were pure, and I shed them for his pain, not mine.  
     
"They knew?" Archibald murmured incredulously. "All this time, they knew everything."  
     
"Yes..." I whispered.  
     
"And you were the one that informed them."  
     
"Archie--" I began, but I got no farther than our childhood pet name for him, before my voice would no longer obey me and I felt to continue would be unwise.  
     
"Why?"  
     
"I'm so sorry Archie."  
     
"Why would you join them?"  
     
"Do you think she would have chosen to, if she actually knew what she was doing?!" Percy asked, coming loyally to my defense.  
     
"The Briarwoods murdered your family!" Archibald shot back at my brother. "Hunted and oppressed your people! How could she actually join them?!"  
     
"She. Was. Charmed. Archibald."  
     
"I trusted her..."  
     
"Archibald!" Percy's voice cracked like a whip over the room, and Archibald was silenced, but by no means moved. Confusion had given way to anger, and though he remained perfectly composed, indignation boiled beneath the surface.  
     
"Please..." I whispered, "I'm so sorry..." 

He said nothing, sitting cold and rigid in his chair. Despair overcame me, bowing me under its burden, and I blindly clung to the table for support.  
     
"I have forgiven her." Percy said. "If you are still faithful to me, as you were to my father before me, you will both endeavor to do the same. Cassandra is my sister, the same ancient blood and birthright that exists within my veins, also flows within hers. I would hope you will both recognize that privilege, as well as the burden that comes with it."  
     
"We are all in need of forgiveness, I can willingly give mine." Yennin said solemnly, bowing low to my brother. Archibald also bowed, but remained wordless. For a long moment, Percy regarded them both, weighing their responses.  
     
"Very well, then there is nothing more to be said. I'll show you out." And Percy lead them both out of the room, proceeding them out the doors of the castle, and across the courtyard toward the castle gate.  
     
Groping blindly to find my way, I immediately quitted the room, fleeing to the sheltered sitting room. Then unable to maintain my composure any longer, I dissolved. I had never felt so alone. Every one of the few people who could have loved me, I had alienated or betrayed. I was utterly heartsick.  
     
Percy came when he had finally seen Archibald and Yennin off. Tapping on the door, he peeked into the room, then roughly pushed his way in as soon as he saw my state. In one stride he sank down next to me, and roughly gathered me to him, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and squeezing me.  
     
"Everything I touch gets hurt."  
     
"Don't be like that." He said hearteningly, giving me a little shake as he embraced me. "Archie will get over himself, you'll see. He's just a stiff necked old man who can't bare to admit he was hoodwinked."  
     
But his words couldn't stop my grief, and he fell silent, gently holding me as I wept. He couldn't have drawn away from me if he tried, he was all I had left, and I clung to him desperately. In the midst of my despair, he was my one and only anchor, and I couldn't let go of him. To pull away from him in that moment would have been a physical pain, and Percy knew better than to try.  
     
"I forgive you." He murmured in my ear. "I don't care what Archibald says, he can go fuck himself for all I care. I forgive you. I forgive you."  
     
He squeezed me tighter, saying it over and over. Gradually I regained control, and grew quieter in his arms, but Percy continued to hold me, in no hurry to break apart. Finally I swallowed my tears, and in the absence of a pocket handkerchief, I resorted to his sleeve with a sniff.  
     
"You're such a wet chicken Cas." Percy laughed.  
     
"Shut up."  
     
"It really is pathetic."  
     
I laughed shakily, giving him a half hearted shove. He resisted it without much effort, slapping me on the cheek, then gathering me back into him.  
     
"I'm so tired of this," I murmured as we settled again, tears veiling my voice as I struggled to keep control. "Always trying to please everybody."  
     
"Then don't. You're terrible at it anyway."  
     
"I hate you."  
     
"You always get so worked up about everything." He said, tweaking my nose fondly. "I almost envy that: how much you care. We're Heart and Brain, you and I. Sometimes I feel like we each got a double serving of what the other could use a little more of."  
     
"Wait, are you calling me stupid!?"  
     
"Maybe..."  
     
"You're heartless then."  
     
"I am heartless."  
     
"What do you mean?"  
     
Percy laughed, curling a strand of my hair around his finger thoughtfully. But no answer was forthcoming, and I pressed him.  
     
"You've got a heart Percy, I know that."  
     
"No I really don't." Percy said, smiling knowingly, his eyes turned inward. "Maybe I did, but I certainly don't now. If I was using my heart instead of my head, I would have known better than to come up with such a dangerous weapon as this." He drew out Ripley's pistol as he spoke, which he had adopted, in the absence of the pistol he made himself.  
     
"Ripley made that."  
     
"But it was my idea. Don't you see Cas? She built it, but I was the one that thought of it, I was the one that was crazy enough, or cruel enough to harness something so terrible."  
     
"You're a builder Percy," I reasoned. "If you hadn't built this, then you would have built something else."  
     
"If you had conceived something like this, would you have built it?"  
     
"No..."  
     
"And if I hadn't created this, maybe I would have had to come up with something a little more worthy of praise."  
     
"You're not the first person to invent a new weapon."  
     
"Every weapon is dangerous, but this is worse." Percy said, and in our close embrace I felt him shudder. "It shoots farther than a bow, faster, and and with less exertion. At least with a bow you have to train, but a child could kill someone with this. If you had been shot with this instead of arrows, that night I left you in the woods, your attacker could have shot you twice as much as he did, in the same amount of time. He could have killed you, and spent half as much energy doing it. This is the culmination of every vengeful thought I've ever been ashamed of. This is what happens when I try to murder my way to an answer, as if death could bring the family back. This is cold, efficient death, bundled into a neat little metal package, and I was heartless to build it. This gun is the highest creation of a man who has no soul."  
     
"I know that's not true, you're my brother, I know you."  
     
"That's not me anymore, Cas." Percy declared, speaking lightly, as if we were discussing the weather. "I'm not the same person I was. All this has changed me, changed everything. I look at this place, and it isn't the same place anymore, it isn't were I'm supposed to be."  
     
"But this is home." I said, a prick of desperation smiting my heart.  
     
"It's home, but it's not where I'm going, can't you see that? I'm not finished yet, I can feel it. Those crazy idiots I call friends, they're my family, no matter how insane they can be sometimes. Honestly I don't know if they'd survive without me around to baby sit. And whatever it is we're meant to do, it's going to be out there, not here."  
     
"You only just came back to me..." I pleaded, the growing feeling of desperation rising up to smother me.  
     
"You silly goose, I'm not leaving you!" Percy struggled out of my clinging grip, and turned to grab my hands. "I want you to listen to me very closely. Can you do that?"  
     
I nodded. With a smile Percy cupped my face, forcing me to look up at him. Then the smile vanished, and his eyes became hard, as he turned deadly serious.  
     
"I will never leave you. Do you understand? I will never leave you on your own again."  
     
"You are leaving, you just said that."  
     
"This isn't like before." Percy asserted, gripping my hand so tightly it began to go numb. "I abandoned you, dying alone, in the middle of winter. While I was off finding fame and fortune, you were here all alone, completely friendless, trapped under Silas's thumb."  
     
I could hear the self reproach in his voice. The guilt that scorched him. I wasn't the only one living with regrets, burdened by the knowledge that I'd let down the people I cared about.  
     
"I will never leave you like that again, I'm always going to come back. Would you like me to swear it?"  
     
"No, no, of course not. Never to me." I refused instinctively, then I grinned. "Maybe you should actually, on paper or something, so I have physical proof. You always were a slippery one."  
     
"Don't push your luck, I'll swear to come back, but I'm not writing it down," Percy said. "Are you satisfied?  
     
"Not yet. You still have to swear to me. I haven't heard you do it properly yet sir."  
     
"I swear--"  
     
"Properly."  
     
"I, Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the third, do swear to come back to Whitestone, in one form or another." Percy said, placing a hand on his heart and speaking out to the empty air. "Now do you believe me?"  
     
"It'll do for now." I said, tilting up my chin. "But if you come back to me dead, I swear I'll kill you. I fucking will."  
     
"I'd better be careful then."  
     
"I'm serious Percy." I said, suddenly becoming sober, and I impetuously embraced him again, speaking into his shoulder. "If you get yourself killed, I will follow you into the afterlife, and then I swear you're never going to hear the end of it."  
     
"Noted...and I love you too." Percy said, speaking into my hair, so that his breath tickled against the side of my neck. "You're my sister, this is my home, and I'll always leave you half of my heart to keep here."  
     
I could have been content to be like this forever. If he was going to leave Whitestone again, my only option was to hold onto him for as long as I could, and enjoy it while it lasted. After all, he wasn't gone yet. So I did hold on, and for nearly a minute we sat in silence.  
     
"I thought you had no heart." I said at last.  
     
"Well if I do, it's not as big as it should be, and I was still a fool to create this gun."  
     
"But if I've got one half, then who's got the other?" Once again I received no answer, and Percy silently tried to disengage himself from me. I sat up and looked at him, but he wouldn't meet my eyes, and sudden understanding dawned.  
     
"Because somebody's already got the other half!" I grinned wickedly, trying catch Percy's downcast eyes. "Who's the lucky girl? Is it Keyleth? She's pretty, but I don't know if you go for redheads. What about Vex? Maybe you like a little wickedness to your bride. Or it could be Pike, but that would be a bit awkward with the hight difference, and I don't know how wooing a priestess would go. That might be blasphemy...Don't tell me it's another man...Vax'ildan maybe?"  
     
"Stop, Cas, stop, stop."  
     
"What? You can tell me! I'll be as silent as the grave, wild horses wouldn't drag it out of me!"  
     
"I haven't told her yet," Percy said soberly. "It wouldn't be fair to her, if you knew before she did, so just wait alright? I'll tell you eventually."  
     
"Very well..." I said, with mock sullenness. "If you insist. When my lucky fellow comes along, I shan't tell you who he is either, but leave you to puzzle it out for yourself. And as another warning, I will be on the lookout anyway, maybe I'll sniff out the temptress for myself."  
     
"She's not a temptress."  
     
"Oh, that ruffles the feathers...maybe it is Pike after all..."  
     
"You're a perfect idiot Cas."


End file.
